


Did I Tell You “I Love You?”

by Bagchuu



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: And he tries to guide Youngjo, Currently tipsy on apple juice, Doctor Irene and Yeri, Gunhak is a friend of Youngjo’s, Hwanwoong has a minor illness, M/M, Sad backstories and stuff, Stars and Constellations, Youngjo is a rich kid, college life is hard, i don’t know how to tag, more rags to be added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagchuu/pseuds/Bagchuu
Summary: Youngjo has too many luxurious items dangling off his hands to count himself.Hwanwoong has too many jobs dangling off his hands to count himself.When they meet, sparks of fury and annoyance blossom into fireworks of love.TW: Smoking, Major and Minor Illnesses
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Yeo Hwanwoong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Did I Tell You “I Love You?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! If you’re checking this out, this was also another work I’ve written before—also had this ship in mind whilst writing~  
> I hope it doesn’t disappoint—it was a short drabble and it was fun to write!  
> Happy Reading!

Hwanwoong sighed, taking off his overalls, changing in the locker room, getting out of the work attire for the day, stepping out of his pants, shivering as the cool air hit his bare skin, changing into his clothes—a casual white t-shirt, along with blue ripped jeans, and a customized black jacket—one that he had designed himself.

(And God _knows_ that he almost messed up ten times getting every word right, but it was _so_ worth it, his jacket turned out fucking beautiful.)

It was originally a black bomber jacket—so plain and boring, that it ticked Hwanwoong off, so he did what he always did.

Customize it.

Sharp letters clashed together in white, a few extra streaks added by mistake, looking like nothing short of a masterpiece.

His mom never forgot to remind him how he shouldn’t have bought the item if he was just going to “splatter a bunch of paint on it at the end of the day”, acting as though Hwanwoong was really going to listen to him.

She had first seen him customize his own shoes, at the age of eight, when he gave his new black sneakers white stripes—chasing after Hwanwoong for a good hour with a slipper in her hand, as Hwanwoong ducked under her arm, giggling, as he ran into the nearest park, telling the old lady who sat at the bench every day what his mom was doing.

“Ajhumma! Ajhumma! Look!” He ran to her, his small hands waving in the air, as she turned to him, her hands on her cane, smiling as she turned to him. “Mommy’s running after me, hide me!” He hid behind her, peeking out every second later, as she shook her head, crooning at the young boy.

“Really now?” She chuckled, turning back to the young boy, who nodded violently, putting his fingers to his lips, as she laughed once more, nodding, facing his mother, who entered the park, looking for the young boy.

“Ajhumma, have you seen my little boy?” She asked, pointing to the place behind her, as the old woman beckoned her closer, telling her to sit down.

“Come on, I won’t bite you, sit here, Hwayoung,” She ushered for Hwanwoong’s mother to come closer, as she sat down, sighing. Then she looked back at Hwanwoong, ushering him to go play out in the park. “Don’t worry, Mommy won’t say anything to you,” She whispered to him, sending him off, as he ran towards the inviting jungle gym. She turned back to Hwayoung, who folded her arms, turning to face the older woman better. “Alright, now what did he do?” She smiled warmly, her features melting under the rays of the sun.

Hwayoung sighed, shaking her head, as the older woman attempted to contain her smile.

“He painted his new—hundred dollar shoes with white stripes!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air, as the older woman put her stick to the side, tapping her foot twice.

They both looked at his shoes—and they might have looked a bit odd, and maybe a bit messed up, but….Hwanwoong _liked_ them. He joyfully ran them, looking down at shoes every now and then, smiling a bit more.

“Well, does he like them?” The older woman looked over at Hwayoung’s wrung brows, her uptight posture, and her tense and her clenched fists. “Hwayoung, look, you need to learn that growing up as a single mother does not mean buying him the most expensive things on the planet,” She put her hands over Hwayoung’s, as the younger woman looked over, concerned.

“I just….” Her lower lip trembled, as she shook her head, sniffling, swallowing. “He deserves the world, my little Woong,” She let a tear fall before harshly swiping it away. “You know?” She turned, her eyes revealing tears that still stood, waiting to fall, glimmering like crystals, shining.

The older woman sighed, nodding. “Of course he does, but look at your son, Hwayoung,” She ushered her to look at the bright child, laughing, as he sang, climbing up the orange painted ladder, going down the slide, cheering. “He’s happy without these expensive things,” She smiled, thinking of her own son. “He doesn’t think of value through the price of something,” She turned back to Hwayoung. “He sees value through the prism of joy, the prism of its significance to _him._ ” She rubbed circles over Hwayoung’s knuckles, letting her cry silently.

Hwanwoong grew up without a father—in an environment filled with conflicts and resolutions—of learning how to get along with a woman who had given birth to him, but carried the title of a companion to him. She also grew up raising him alone.

She had Hwanwoong. Hwanwoong had her.

They had each other, and they were happy.

They were hikers, together, climbing up a rocky mountain, stopping when needed, giving themselves a chance to catch their breath, holding a hand out to the other when needed. They went up together. They fell together. They cried together, and laughed together, and fought together, and hugged each other the next hour.

Hwanwoong smiled to himself in thought of his late mother, leaving the chilly locker room, checking to see if he had left anything in the store before exiting-

“Excuse me,” A soft, dim voice entered his voice, as Hwanwoong turned, looking at the person who called him, as they placed a small teddy bear holding a red heart on the counter, his heartbeat slightly quickening.

“Uh….” Hwanwoong looked around, seeing no one else but that one person in the store, taking the teddy bear, scanning it, nervously biting his lip-

“You’re not in that usual light blue shirt and those overalls,” His soft voice spoke, like a candle, soft, flickering, gentle, lighting up everything around it. “About to get off?” He looked over at Hwanwoong, who simply stared up.

“Thirteen dollars,” Hwanwoong blatantly spoke, as the man nodded, taking out his sleek black credit card, handing it to Hwanwoong, who took it, swiping it, pressing at the small screen for a few seconds, frowning, sighing out through his nose.

“It’s a nice evening out there today,” The man shrugged, looking out the glass doors, as the moon hung above the stars, smiling. “It’s-”

“One second, please hold on,” Hwanwoong cut him off, going to the back of the counter, checking the wires of the device, making it seem as though he actually knew what he was doing without making it look like he unplugged and replugged the electrical plug back into its socket. After crouching by the socket for a few more seconds, he returned to the counter, restarting the machine, as it powered on.

 _The one day I got to leave early, this happened,_ Hwanwoong glared daggers at the machine, as the other chuckled.

“Guess you can’t leave early now, sorry about that,” He shrugged his shoulders, as Hwanwoong paid no attention to the other.

Setting up the POS system, he swiped the card, tapping away at the screen in relief, putting the teddy bear in a bag, handing the card back to the man, along with the bear, sighing.

“Have a nice day sir-”

“Youngjo,” The man raised an eyebrow at him, taking both, putting the card back neatly in his wallet, standing in front of the counter. “We attend the same university, and have the same classes, so you should know my name by now,” He stood firmly, arms crossed across his chest.

Hwanwoong sighed, shaking his head, as he turned to leave, taking out his keys, ready to close for the day, grabbing his bag, huffing under his breath, heading to the door.

Curious, Youngjo stood in the same spot, tapping his foot, waiting for the shorter to say something-

 _Screech!_ Youngjo looked up and saw the younger on his tiptoes, pouting, pulling the store gate down, the metal loud.

“Wait! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Youngjo ran out the store, pushing past Hwanwoong, who only smiled to himself, his small plan working well, as he ignored the taller, locking the store doors, his hands making themselves busy, scatting to himself. “Hey, shortie, what the fuck was that stupid stunt?” Youngjo moved in front of Hwanwoong, who continued to pull down the gate, locking it, as the lock secured itself with a _click!_ _  
_

“And a _para-pum-pum-pa-pum_ ,” Hwanwoong twirled the keys in his finger, heading off, smiling at the bright stars, as Youngjo scowled.

Hwanwoong did not hate Youngjo, despite what it may seem as in this scenario. 

Rather, he was not dearly fond of Kim Youngjo: the college campus’ sweetheart, who everyone crushed on, wanted to be friends with, wanted to take a photo with.

The guy with the lustful, whisper-ish voice, as everyone described him. The one with the curly locks and a handsome face.

Yes, Hwanwoong did _like_ him. 

~~(Maybe he thought about those perfect features and his perfect height and the way his hugs would be the warmest in the world and how nice his build was)~~

  
_God,_ how _couldn’t_ he like a man as good looking as Kim fucking Youngjo? That was practically impossible—especially after the fact that he came to buy a teddy bear every single fucking day.

For crying out loud, the man was rich, _and_ classy—he knew how to dress himself.

But Hwanwoong knew he could get over Youngjo easily (maybe). He only liked Youngjo for his face, he didn’t know the other like that.

Nothing about Youngjo’s personality had been exposed enough to Hwanwoong for him to properly come to a firm conclusion about his feelings towards the man.  
And it had been only two months of the other coming every day, not more.

As Hwanwoong neared his college, the thought of heading to his dorm room and sleep couldn’t seem any better.

* * *

“Hwanwoong! Yeo Hwanwoong!” The professor tapped his stick against the chalkboard, as the sleepy boy emerged from his short slumber, eyes groggy, vision blurry, as he cleared his throat, blinking multiple times, inhaling.

“Yes sir?” His voice (deeper than usual) showed signs of fatigue, and a lack of sleep, rubbing his eyes, a yawn escaping his mouth, as he stretched, eyes heavy.

The class stared at the tired boy, as his eyes closed for a few seconds, forcing them open again.

“Mr. Yeo, we don’t have all day,” The professor sighed, shaking his head, adjusting his thin-rimmed glasses back on his nose. “The answer,” His brow wrinkled, as Hwanwoong nodded.

“Ah, right, the answer….” He squinted, looking through his blurry vision, feeling the stare of all the other people burning through him, holes piercing into him.

(Damn, this felt worse than those piercings on his ears.)

(Hwanwoong knew he was one of the….“bad students”. He tried his hardest, but at times, that wasn’t something his professor cared for.

Along with that, he wasn’t exactly….popular among the students—one of the “lower class” students, not deemed worthy enough to hang out with the others, classified by his monthly income.  
And honestly, Hwanwoong couldn’t give a fuck—he didn’t have the time to divert his attention to lowlifes who had nothing better to do other than throw their money around.)

He tapped his foot anxiously, cursing himself for not reading the short story his English professor had assigned them, trying to come up with an answer that would make sense-

“Derevaun seraun,” A soft, yet firm voice resounded through the room, heads turning to look at the person, who had now stood up, a thin packet held delicately through their fingers.  
Hwanwoong shook his head, burying his face in his hands, trying hard not to scream, or yell, or groan out loud in frustrating, or tell Youngjo to shut the fuck up-

“The end of pleasure is pain,” His accent was a compass to the fact that he wasn’t a native speaker, but his words were tangible, evident enough to make the professor smile, looking up at his favorite student.

“Well done,” He clapped, nodding, putting his stick down. “Well done, Kim Youngjo, as usual, looking back at the chalkboard, writing down what Youngjo had said, in clear print, the chalk dust caking on his finger pads, as he brushed his hands, looking at Hwanwoong through slanted eyes. “Please pay attention, like Mr. _Kim_ here,” His brows raised, as Hwanwoong only nodded, biting his lower lip, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

Just like that, the professor converted everyone’s attention back to the front, rambling on about his lecture about symbolization and what words are important in the English language.  
And honestly, Hwanwoong couldn’t give two fucks about the English language, his face buried in his hands, dozing off once more, the dark aura of sleep welcoming him, as his lips parted slightly, peacefully breathing.

(Youngjo looked over at Hwanwoong, a small smile creeping up on his face—the younger _had_ been pretty tired, working late and shit—up till around twelve, then heading to his tiny, cramped apartment, having to finish up reports.)

The lesson grazed Youngjo’s ears as the teacher clapped his hands together, smiling. “Class dismissed for today, thank you for your time!” He enthusiastically packed up his things, the first one out the door, humming to himself.  
The students laughed at the hastiness of their professor, who didn’t look back once, glad to go home and rest, as did students, packing up their bags, some talking on their way out, some of them looking down on their phones, some of them dialing numbers, as others stayed behind, taking a bit longer to pack up their things.

Youngjo sat back in his chair as the room soon became vacant, watching the innocent sleeping boy, his face propped up on his hand, his chest slowly rising and falling, lower lip slightly protruded, as he scrunched his nose every now and then, shaking his head a bit, inspecting his features. 

Who knew Yeo Hwanwoong would look like an angel when he slept?

He had almond shaped eyes, outlined with dark liner, his lashes small and delicate, like his bony frame, a dainty nose, narrow and pretty, along with thin amaranth pink lips, and a sharp jawline.  
He had tiny hands, his slender fingers resting in his white hair, as he slept, looking like the most peaceful person on earth, as though nothing could bother him.

That was, until his alarm for work went off, causing Hwanwoong to jump, as he gasped, eyes fluttering open, falling off of his chair, causing Youngjo’s eyes to widen, running over to the younger. 

(Ouch. That fall was brutal.)

  
“Oh _God_ , are you okay?” He held the other by his arms, hoisting him up easily, causing Hwanwoong’s cheeks to color, as he was still trying to process whatever the fuck was happening.

  
“Yes, oh dear lord,” He scrubbed his eyes, his head spinning, about to burst open any second, grabbing his bag, the buzzing in his ears growing, as he yawned, stumbling on his way out-

“Hwanwoong, wait,” Youngjo lightly grabbed his wrist (unable to hide his shock from how small Hwanwoong’s wrist was), running in front of him. “Wait wait wait, Hwanwoong-” He crouched down a bit-

  
“I have to go to work,” Hwanwoong whined, tapping his foot impatiently, wetting his lips, eyes darting all around the place, as Youngjo sighed, standing back up, slowly letting go of Hwanwoong’s wrist. 

(What the fuck did Youngjo want from him? He was going to get late for work, and that was an absolute no-no.)

(Then again, maybe he did just want to stop and stare at Youngjo’s face for a few seconds.)

( _Stop,_ Hwanwoong yelled at his fuzzy brain, racking away his thoughts and the arguments happening in his head.)

“Hear me out, okay?” Youngjo put his hands in his pocket, raising his eyebrows at Hwanwoong, who only nodded, rolling his eyes.

(In reality, Hwanwoong really just wanted to run away before his heart exploded right there and then, that’s how fucking close Youngjo was. 

It scared the shit out of him.)

“How about we go for a coffee, grab one _super_ quick, and then we head over to your workplace, and I promise I’ll tell your boss it was my idea, okay?” He bent down the slightest bit, ready to get yelled at, screamed at, kicked, punched, or worse-

  
“Okay,” Hwanwoong sighed, eyes flat, empty. His voice was a monotone, as though someone had drained all the energy out of him, leaving him in a pile of his own mess and worry, shoulders slumped, staring at Youngjo’s Gucci black loafers, nodding.

He was so fucking _tired._ He just wanted _sleep—_ to go and cuddle a giant body pillow and scream a little at the world, but mostly, he wanted to sleep.

(Youngjo was _stubborn._ That was something he was proud of—a _rich_ person thing: if he wanted something, he went after it continuously, until one had no other choice but to give in.)

And Youngjo swore he felt his heart melt at the action—his arm slowly making its way around Hwanwoong’s slender shoulders, bringing the younger a bit closer, walking out the classroom, as Hwanwoong stared back down at his shoes, unsure of what to do or say.

“Are you fine with this?” Youngjo whispered into Hwanwoong’s ear as they walked outside, their footsteps matching, as he Hwanwoong only shook his head, lips glued together, trying hard not to pay attention to the stares and whispers.

Fuck, this felt like one of those cringy scenes from a cliche romance movie that was directed in the 1980s ( _yikes_ ), and Hwanwoong just wanted to dissappear, or melt into a small puddle, or somehow just-

“Hey, just ignore them,” Youngjo’s voice brought Hwanwoong out of his thoughts, as Hwanwoong swallowed, nodding at the other, who only made the presence of his hand more visible on Hwanwoong’s shoulder, securing the younger next to him.

Who knew a five minute walk off the campus would feel like ten hours?

“No fucking way, Kim Youngjo goes to grab coffee with the _part_ timer?” Hwanwoong heard someone whisper to another out in the entrance, the words spoken as though they were a curse.

How did _they_ know that Youngjo was going for coffee? 

(Wow, what a bunch of….. _odd_ people.)

“Don’t worry, Hwanwoong, they’re being absolute assholes,” Youngjo chuckled, his voice booming next to Hwanwoong’s ear, and Hwanwoong swore he almost froze in his tracks, his heart pounding out of his chest.

 _God_ , it wasn’t _fair_ , Kim Youngjo had the ability to do these things, and it scared the absolute fuck out of the younger.

Hwanwoong only nodded, chewing his lip, unsure of what else to do or say. He was with _the_ Kim Youngjo, going for coffee with _him_ , Yeo Hwanwoong, and he could most likely get fired from his job, despite the excuses or reasons.

(Oh well, fuck it.)

They walked side by side, Youngjo’s fingers lightly tapping against Hwanwoong’s shoulder, squeezing it as a reminder of his presence (as if his lean body brushing against the other’s wasn’t enough). 

Maybe Hwanwoong prayed to every God he believed in to _not_ let the other feel that erratic pulse, his heart wildly flogging his rib cage. 

(Kim Youngjo was a dangerous, yet hot man.)

“My car is just down the block, okay?” Youngjo politely led him down, seeing Hwanwoong nervously fiddle with his hands, his fingernails settling in the depths of his palms.

 _Dammit_ , usually he didn’t give a damn about what people thought….but right now, that was the only thing on his mind, invading every small space in his mind, not allowing anything else in, blocking an ensemble of thoughts that could’ve gotten him out of the mess he had gotten himself into.

(But _no,_ of course his brain had to work this way, curse his luck.)

As they neared his car, Hwanwoong felt his body halt, staring, his fists clenched, Youngjo moving forward, the car keys in his hand, beeping the car.

Dear Lord, this was overwhelming.

Getting in a car with Kim Youngjo was extremely overwhelming—the urge to storm past Youngjo, and just shut him out, even if it was climbing up his back, crawling on his neck, whispering into his ear, the blood in his body pumping rapidly, like a vicious wave—merciless, with no end to it.

(He tried not to cry or yell when Youngjo held the door open for the younger, ushering him in the car politely.)

“You want me to get in that….car?” Hwanwoong pointed at the glossy new BMW standing in front of the both of them, a door open, Youngjo looking at Hwanwoong, nodding.

Hwanwoong scoffed, shaking his head, feeling….was it frustration? Or stress? 

Maybe it was trying to keep up with three part-time jobs, maybe that frustrated him.

Youngjo nodded, standing by the open car door, ushering Hwanwoong politely, as the other felt his feet plant him in place, doing nothing but staring at the vacant seat being offered to Hwanwoong, then looking back up at Youngjo, as the older only smiled patiently. 

“Is there anything I can offer to make the seat better? Add a pillow?” He asked, heading to the back of the car to get Hwan-

“Wait,” Hwanwoong felt his eyes sting, picking at the scab that had appeared after getting hurt the other day. Youngjo’s eyes stayed trained on him, standing up tall. “I’m…. _me_ ,” Hwanwoong pointed to himself, looking back down at the floor, unsure of what else to say. 

No, rather, he was unsure of _how_ to say it. 

“Yes, you are you, Hwanwoong, and I am me,” Youngjo walked over politely, his shoes clacking against the pavement, crouching down slightly to meet the younger’s eyes. “Do you feel sick? Or….do you just not want to go with me?” He asked, his voice nothing but a small whisper at the end, eyes slightly wide with concern.

Hwanwoong stared up at Youngjo in disbelief. Was he being serious right now?

Or was this all another joke, a prank played on him because he didn’t apologize to that rich douche he met in the hall the other day for bumping into him?

(Either way, Hwanwoong wanted _out_.)

“I….” Hwanwoong blinked a few times, slightly stepping back, stepping behind a crack in the sidewalk, as Youngjo sighed, standing up straight. “Yes,” He nodded, answering both of Youngjo's questions, clearing his throat, turning away. “I do not wish to be here with you at the moment-”

The line in between the both of them became more evident, as if Hwanwoong had highlighted the boundary that made them drift away from each other, as though a little child were playing with a sharpie, putting all of the force into its wrist, as the sound of the sharpie screeched against the paper, creating a separation in between two blank spaces on paper.

“You shouldn’t have told me that you wanted to come then, Hwanwoong,” Youngjo sighed, his eyes filled with….desperation?

Maybe it was more of utter sadness and disappointment, as though Youngjo had failed a goal he was striving for, something he was ultimately motivated for, the ambition in his eyes washed away, the joy lighting up his face creeping out of his expression.

Hwanwoong tried to open his mouth. To say something and yell at Youngjo. To tell him this wasn’t fair, and that he was so _so_ fucking _tired,_ and that he just wanted to sleep, and cry, maybe sob a little, and cuddle someone to sleep, and just not be so fucking _lonely-_

But Hwanwoong blinked away the tears that burnt his eyes, letting out a shaky breath, not daring to look back at Youngjo, as he clenched his hands into tight fists, swallowing the lump in his throat, about to look back-

As Hwanwoong snapped his head to the front, every step felt as though he was drowning in quicksand, taking him under, making it hard to emerge above it all, not looking back, but suffering silently.

And maybe Youngjo almost reached out for the other, to ask him to stay, to please show a bit more emotion around him, to loosen up, to stop sticking his nose in every goddamned book he found, to let Hwanwoong know that he _truly_ wanted to befriend the other-

But Youngjo’s outstretched hand curled in the air, slowly trailing back down to his side, staring at the other walk off, his heart taken aback at his own actions, yelling at him.

Youngjo sat all alone in the cafe that day.

* * *

It occurred rapidly—the death of Hwanwoong’s mother. 

It was as though time was given a command, to speed up, to make death appear quicker, just on this one woman, to make her last chapter end quicker, give it the shittiest last chapter of all time.

But then, it was as though time was commanded to make the last sentence the world’s longest sentence, the moment of her death stretching out, like a rubber band, being stretched to its limit.

When the rubber band was released, it let out a loud snap, stinging the area that it landed its impact upon.

Time’s impact was much more than a small burn on a hand for a few minutes.

For when Hwanwoong’s mother was on her deathbed, her last words happened to be the only thing remaining on Hwanwoong’s mind—something he could never rid himself of no matter how hard he tried.

Damn, his _mother_ wasn’t someone he could just _forget._

Every inch of her face, every wrinkle, every crease, every hair on her thin eyebrow, every lucios, curled eyelash, every crack in her lips, every small dot of life on her face—everything that made her Yeo Hwayoung, a strong woman that Hwanwoong was proud to acknowledge as his mother, and his friend. 

Even when carrying the world on her back, she did it with a smile, always coming home exhausted, yet still giving the most warm hugs ever, as baby Hwanwoong would smile and show his missing teeth, a strawberry flavored lollipop resting in his mouth, giggling.

“I missed you, Woongie,” She’d say, heart aching, but her laughter full, as if someone had poured sugar down her throat, the sound of her laughter sweet, pleasant to the ears.

And Hwanwoong would wrap his tiny arms around his mother’s neck and smell her black hair, inhaling the scent of vanilla, swaying in her arms. “I missed you too, mommy,” He’d reply, closing his eyes to keep the smell of his mother in his mind, so that when he’d miss her, he’d think of her scent—something that made him feel safe and warm.

(When he thought of vanilla, he thought of the woman who wanted to protect him from the world—with warm embraces, and hearty hugs, to a beautiful voice, to small quips, to meaningless arguments, to holding his hand with every step she took.)

They grew closer over the days that arrived. They faced problems, as Hwanwoong found ways to help out, working after school, getting a part time job at a restaurant, handing out newspapers early in the morning on his rusty bicycle, steering with one hand and throwing with the other.

He’d study in his free time, and stay up a bit longer if he needed to, preparing for his college exams.

And then he got better offers in college—jobs that offered a bit more, willing to help out their conditions to pull them out from the depths of poverty and extra working hours into something that was a step further into achieving more.

They soon saved up—able to achieve cushion money, to buy an extra coffee in the morning, to afford another cup noodle, a bit of a tasty snack.

They were happy. They saved up for his mother’s birthday, as it neared in the springtime of his junior year of college, planning to go on a vacation for a week—Malibu. They were going to surf, and go sightseeing, and Hwanwoong planned on buying an expensive cake for the first time.

His mother was overjoyed—they took tons of photos, wore flower necklaces, played in the ocean, throwing water at each other, made sandcastles, and chased each other, falling asleep bathed in the sun, beaming widely.

Hwanwoong was getting somewhere—he _felt_ it. His majoring in fashion design was doing something—he was going to dream big, for once in his life. He was going to ace everything that appeared to him in the form of a test.

Things were running smoothly.

(Or so, Hwanwoong thought they were.)

And then in senior year, his mother fell ill.

The news felt like an eruption—blowing up his last few bits of joy, destroying his hard work, his efforts, his life’s meaning, his goals-

Hwanwoong remembered, his hands folded as he stood in front of the doctor, looking at his mother, who lay on the bed, paler than the white sheets, eyes closed, looking peaceful.

“Alzhiemers,” The doctor sighed, clasping his hands together, as he looked at Hwanwoong pitifully. “She came to us too late,” He shook his head, tisking. “Originally, if she came to us when she first started showing symptoms, she would’ve had more than five years,” He looked at Hwanwoong, an ache filling his heart. 

He couldn’t feel anything—couldn’t process anything that was being told to him. He couldn’t even remember how this all unfolded—the last thing he remembered was his mom on the floor as he scrambled to call the ambulance, holding her hand the whole way there, only to find out that she had a disease correlating to her memory loss.

But the five years thing? The whole…. _she doesn’t have time_ thing?

It bounced off his mind, far away from his non-accepting brain, as though his head were being hit with a bouncy ball, and the ball kept leaving, not hitting his brain.

Just leaping, jumping away.

The ground beneath him didn’t feel real. _None_ of this did.

How the hell was he just supposed to accept the fact that his mother had a year left to live?

His mother—his _only_ friend who he’d ever been with all his life, was going to leave him? Forever? In this lonely and cruel world, where Hongjoong’s own dad didn’t want to see his son’s face?  
No thank you, Hwanwoong wasn’t up for that offer-

“Is there…. _any_ way, _please,_ I’ll pay double the amount-” Hwanwoong felt tears pool up in his eyes-

“Kid, look,” The doctor crouched down, making Hwanwoong meet his own sympathetic eyes, a frown evident on his face. “How old are you?” His brows formed a crease.

“I’m twenty-one,” Hwanwoong bit his lip, as the doctor jerked back, slightly taken back by that information.

“Oh….you’re that old already? I thought you were seventeen,” He blinked, scratching his neck awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Still, you’re young, and….I need you to know that your mother is not that young, you know,” He sighed, playing with a pen that he took from his pocket. “You have a strong immune system that’s willing to fight back,” He clicked the pen twice, putting it back in his pocket, looking up. “Your mother’s immune system isn’t,” The doctor’s voice held relentless, a sort of coaxing tone surrounding his words, but unable to fully enter them. 

Hwanwoong stood there, feeling as though someone had just slapped him, hard, across the face, the impact burning, melting away every inch of him, every part of him, as he simply nodded, bowing, walking off.

Leaving his mother in the hospital, all alone.

Hwanwoong couldn’t sleep all month, his tears occupying the passing nights.

* * *

A girl leaned back against the wall, speaking loudly as Hwanwoong passed by. “Oh my _god,_ did you hear about scholarship rejecting Youngjo?!” She exclaimed, her hands reaching up to cover her face, as the hallway filled with people turned to glare at Hwanwoong, their stares penetrating through every inch of him, as he shrugged them off, walking about his way.

“And he pretends like nothing happened—maybe he was just a prostitute who slept with Youngjo the night before,” A boy said, people bursting into laughter, turning to look at Hwanwoong properly. “Oh wait, with a body like his? I don’t think so,” He added, smirking, going back to his own discussion.

Hwanwoong felt needles prick him all over his body, the world slightly swaying, as he swallowed, biting his lip, his eyes hardening as he bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something he would have to reap the consequences for. 

Instead, Hwanwoong did the complete opposite, something that overstepped their expectations. He bowed, smiling. “Thank you, I will take your words into consid-” He stopped, feeling his body being pulled towards someone’s, his side bumping into a hard, built body, causing him to slightly gasp, looking up at the person’s face, who harshly stared back at the boy who had spoken.

“Would you like to tell me what you said about him?” Youngjo raised an eyebrow, his arm tight around Hwanwoong—almost securing him in a tight embrace from the side, as Hwanwoong’s eyes widened, looking down, praying to get out of this situation.

“I-uh….well….” The guy only chuckled nervously, eyes darting around the place, as he held his laptop tighter in his hand. “I didn’t say much…” He trailed off, nodding, like a child who was embarrassed after getting scolded in front of a group of kids.

“I’ll have _everyone_ here know,” Youngjo spoke, his voice loud for the populace in the hallway to hear him. “That Yeo Hwanwoong is not just just _any_ person—and _no,_ he’s not a prostitute,” Youngjo looked over at the girl, his voice low, serious. “And I’ll let you in on something,” His voice was coated with a layer of delight as he turned back to the guy. “Hwanwoong has a better ass than all of you in the room,” He walked off, his arm around Hwanwoong, shielding the younger from the student’s eyes and looks, from their gasps and whispers. 

Hwanwoong felt his heart freeze. What the fuck just happened?

What the _absolute_ fuck?

Did the guy Hwanwoong liked _really_ just compliment his ass? How the fuck did that actually make sense?

No, it didn’t. It _didn’t_ make sense because Hwanwoong was dreaming and he would wake up in a few more seconds, and then he would slap himself across the face, and splash water in his eyes to burn them-

But he didn’t wake up. And there was no water. He kept trudging forward, step after step, the floor blurring into a bunch of bright marble, hurting his eyes, as Youngjo’s powerful footsteps made Hwanwoong feel safe.

He made Hwanwoong feel valuable…like…..a gun attached to his hip—something valuable, something he needed to have secured at all times, by his side, something that shouldn’t leave his sight.

“Youngjo,” Hwanwoong whispered, his throat closing up, as they exited the campus. “Wha-where-” He struggled to find the right words for this situation-

“Not now, Hwanwoong,” He ushered Hwanwoong off of the campus, towards his car, still keeping a firm grip on the younger, as if he’d pass out, or fall any second. “Let’s drive first, hm?” He looked down at the younger, the harsh look on his face melting away, his features softening, eyes brightening. “How does a café sound?” His arm’s grip slightly loosened, its presence still evident in Hwanwoong’s tingling skin, as the younger only nodded, reluctantly sitting in the expensive car, as Youngjo closed the car door, heading to his own seat, starting the car.

The engine snorted, seemingly snickering at the situation they were stuck in, as Youngjo slightly rolled his shoulders, starting to drive off, slowly moving the steering wheel, looking out the street, before bringing them over into the group of cars driving off, concentrated, yet relaxed.

(And _damn,_ Youngjo was a _hot_ driver—he didn’t even _try_ , he just kept a hand on the steering wheel, eventually adding the other when he felt like it, lightly tapping his hand on the wheel when stuck in a line of cars.

Light chatter bursted at times in between the two, but most of the time, Hwanwoong was busy staring at Youngjo driving, in awe by the sight itself presented to him, that he was at a loss for words.

See, it wasn’t _fair,_ Youngjo got to be this good looking, while Hwanwoong just felt offended by every second Youngjo took a breath.

As they arrived, Youngjo looked back constantly, reverse parking, landing his car into a spot that would be convenient for him to get out of later on, controlling the wheel with his palm, unbuckling his seat belt to look back more comfortably, an eyebrow raised occasionally.

And Hwanwoong swore he almost fucking _drooled_ —the man was so hot, dear lord, Hwanwoong almost passed out from a stroke right there and then.)

(Could Youngjo please just buy him at that moment?)

(No, Hwanwoong blinked, trying to shake away the…..frightening thought.)

“Alright, let’s head out,” Youngjo spoke as they arrived, opening the door, exiting the car, heading over to Hwanwoong, who wrestled the seat belt for a good five seconds before exiting, as Youngjo chuckled, holding the car door open for the younger, walking with the younger protectively, an arm lingering around Hwanwoong as they walked inside the cafe, sitting by the window, enjoying the coziness that buzzed in the air.

Youngjo hummed, despite the light music playing in the background, but Hwanwoong enjoyed Youngjo’s melodic voice abiding the air, making Hongjoong feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, as he smiled, tapping his fingers to the rhythm of the song, his ears perking as the song familiarized itself in his brain. 

Hwanwoong looked up at Youngjo in shock, smiling. “Isn’t that….Twilight, by Ravn?” He rested his face in his hands, excited.

Youngjo looked at Hwanwoong, smiling, as he continued to hum, fingers tapping to the beat of the song, nodding at the younger. 

It was nice—spending time like this—where Hwanwoong didn’t feel as though his life were to be in peril danger at all times—where if he’d say something, every letter wouldn’t be picked at, like a scab, annoyed, trying to get rid of it.

“Say….what do you usually drink, Hwanwoong?” Youngjo leaned forward, eyes soft and warm, matching his voice. 

Maybe Hwanwoong’s heart stuttered and choked over itself, picking up its pace, his pulse warm, thrumming against his ribs, more persistent on his neck. “Well….I, uh….coffee, I guess?” He debated, shrugging, watching a waiter walk around, handing people their food and drinks.

Youngjo chuckled at the younger boy, but it was more of a teasing laugh. As though Youngjo weren’t laughing at _Hwanwoong,_ but at his mind—the manner in which he interpreted the given question. “No, silly, I mean….tequila? Scotch? Wine?” He sat back, his brows slightly raised, crossing his arms across his chest, his tone reflecting his high class demeanor, as Hwanwoong’s thighs closed in on each other, his hands being crushed by his knees.

“Oh,” Hwanwoong felt embarrassed, as though he had been called out on in math class, and didn’t know the answer, or spoke the wrong answer to a question that was obviously easy, and _everyone_ else but him knew the answer. “I uh….” His ears turned red, as he swallowed, unsure of how Youngjo would react. “I don’t drink,” He shrugged, laughing nervously, his voice tight, slowly nodding after a while. 

“Ah, I see,” Youngjo spoke gracefully (dear lord the man was practically a swan—he was just missing the wings), smiling as he nodded. “That’s interesting,” His brows rose, as though he were reassuring Hwanwoong, but the sight of Youngjo was never reassuring.

The sight of Youngjo always sent off loud alarms screeching and blaring in Hwanwoong’s ear, making every last hair on his body stand, his bones stiff, and his mouth dry, sirens wailing in his head. 

The sight of Youngjo meant a boundary being drawn between the two, whether Youngjo meant to say anything or not. 

And Youngjo didn’t have wrong intentions. (No, no, no, of course not.) 

(He was very kind, and always tried to do his best with everything and act kind towards everyone and help others.)

But there were _moments_ —moments where Youngjo had the luxury to let a phrase slip out of his mouth, where he was able to skip a class, where he could oversleep and simply speed down the road to get to class, where he didn’t have to work an extra job to be able to afford a new pair of shoes after five years, where he proudly displayed the latest model car, coat, ring, shoes…. _anything_. 

(Practically everything he owned.)

Moments where Hwanwoong looked at Youngjo….and _envied_ him. 

His money had given him the luxury to live the life Hwanwoong could only envision during a dream.

Hwanwoong envied him for being so fucking _ignorant_ —blissfully blind to the cruelty of the world around him, the inequality, the clear meaning behind social class and justice—behind life.

Because let’s be honest, Youngjo _was_ ignorant—that was not a lie.

But he was not closed minded.

He was willing to learn, to carry a pen and a journal in his hand and travel across acres of knowledge and discoveries, to go above and beyond the depths of friendship just to understand someone, to dive deep into the wonders of the world, the true nature of something, the essentialities that every person carried deep in their heart.

Like a child with dreams of being an explorer—Youngjo had no boundaries in his mind, willing to throw his money at something he found worth the while, to sit down and let time pass if he considered valuable, to spend his time on one thing, even if it meant letting a decade passing by—just to get to the bottom of it, to achieve his mission, to complete his goal.

Stubborn, yet determined. 

Like a child.

* * *

“Thank you for today,” Hwanwoong got out of the car (after Youngjo protested to hold the door open for him), heading out, onto his night job, in front of the diner, getting his things, smiling, as he headed off-

“Hwanwoong,” Youngjo slowly caught his arm, halting the younger in place, his voice sticky, like honey, making it harder for Hwanwoong to move forward, to escape that sound.

Slowly, Hwanwoong turned around, as though he were expecting….something _bad_ to come out of Youngjo’s mouth, fear slightly drawled on his face, eyes wide, filled with hesitancy, his movements slurred, as though he wanted to cherish the “nice” Youngjo, unable to say something, to push words off of his tongue, and tumble through his lips-

“I-I really did mean it,” Youngjo raised a brow, as he pursed his lips, looking down, inspecting his body, in a rather….seductive manner. 

Hwanwoong stumbled backwards, slightly taken aback, tilting his head. “Uh, what?” His voice was laced with the knowledge to the answer that he was asking of, even if curiosity leaped into his last breath.

“You….” Youngjo bit his lip, scratching his neck awkwardly, chuckling slightly. “You have a nice ass, Hwanwoong,” He released the words with a sigh, meeting the other’s eyes.

Hwanwoong stood there, completely baffled by Youngjo’s words, as though they were a blow to his gut, or a punch to his stomach, completely statue-like, his body frozen in place, eyes wide, screaming panic.

Was he breathing right now? _How_ was he breathing at the moment? His breathing was an intricate riddle to the mind.

(Jeez, his heart felt as though it would rip out of his chest, break his ribs, and plop right in Youngjo’s hand itself.)

Kim Youngjo complimented him. And _meant_ what he said—about his ass. (It wasn't a lie.)

 _The_ Kim fucking Youngjo implied the fact that Hwanwoong—Yeo fucking Hwanwoong had a nice ass. 

Kim Youngjo: rich kid, handsome, has a nice shot to a good, wealthy future, with the probability of getting married to some fancy gorgeous woman in the future.

Yeo Hwanwoong: A fucking teddy bear store worker.

What the fuck? How did that add up?

(See, it _didn’t_ add up, but it was happening at the moment, so Hwanwoong’s mind was malfunctioning.)

Was Youngjo insinuating the fact that Hwanwoong had a nice ass _reasonable_?

No. It wasn’t. 

As Hwanwoong stared back at the other, his brain had decided to halt all of its workers at the moment and temporarily deactivate, leading to a stuttering, blinking, awkward Hwanwoong, who was currently about to bang his head into a wall-

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable or anything,” Youngjo leaned on the open car door, a foot slightly in the car.

(And my, my, _my,_ did Youngjo look like a fine man resting against his car, complimenting nothing more than an average worker, looking at Hwanwoong as if they were newlyweds, going off on their honeymoon, ready to spend their nights quite….occupied.)

Hwanwoong shrugged his shoulders—it wasn’t his _first_ time hearing those words. 

But maybe hearing them from _Youngjo_ himself set off a different spark in his heart, making him jittery, his toes curl, and the hairs on his back stand up straight, his heart roar in his ears, a whooshing sound-

No. No, the whooshing sound was _triggered._ As it had been for the third time this week, his blood pulsating more visibly in his veins, the small vein on his neck jumping up and down more viciously, feeling the world’s buzz slowly fade away-

But Hwanwoong looked away, nodding nonchalantly, waving Youngjo off, the world teetering underneath him, as his arrows narrowed slightly, standing for a few seconds to get the pavement to not seem as though it were a damn seesaw, constantly moving.

“I’m okay,” He muttered, walking off, Youngjo’s wary gaze glued to his back, sighing, watching the other leave, frustration crying out with every step the younger took.

“I fucked up real bad.”

* * *

Hwanwoong ran back to the kitchen as he heard his name being called for, catching himself on a wall from falling. “Coming, ma’am!” He announced, steadying himself for a second.

The hours in the restaurant were long and annoying, as always, but with a bit of humming and scatting here and there, the hours seemed to blend into one another, some minutes taking longer to flow than others, especially with a good song choice playing in the background.

Jazz was Hwanwoong’s favorite. The perfect time to listen to Jazz was all alone, ready to relax, to loosen up, let the saxophone soothe your soul, as you unwind in the bathtub, the night sky’s breeze flying along the streets, curling up in the corners of buildings, peering through open windows.

But for Hwanwoong, listening to Jazz helped him decompress no matter where he was, in any state whatsoever.

Jazz was his savior, his knight in shining armor, his hero that appeared in the midst of a heavy and tiring battle that seemed to have no end to sight—doing the unthinkable.

Helping _the_ Yeo Hwanwoong _relax._

See, that was practically impossible.

(His mother and him would end entangled in heavy quarrels orbiting the topic of his resting schedule—how he had too many jobs and studied too hard, and did _this,_ and _that,_ and how he just needed to fucking stop and _breathe_ for a few seconds, and take in his damn surroundings, not act like a bot.

It’d end up in heavy tears, and hushed reassuring phrases, and comforting embraces, anger mixed with sobs, a few things scattered on the floor, the loss of appetite, but at the end of the day, they had each other.)

Hwanwoong did not consider himself what they call….human. Rather, he considered himself to be a cyborg—some sort of bionically functioning person, who happened to have a heart for some odd reason.

The word _rest_ filled Hwanwoong’s heart with enmity. _Ew._

So he worked. And worked. And filled the mere gaps of time with jobs and work, and books, and words, and formulas, and reforming clothes, and….and….just _all_ of that. 

So much work—as though everything _had_ to be done the minute he got it—nothing could wait another second, it was too essential.

And how could Hwanwoong miss the sign of large, bold letters, practically crying out to him, _Help Wanted_?

Another job meant more money, which meant more opportunities at taking more classes, which meant working harder, which meant getting so far after all of those scholarships in college.

(Those scholarships in college could only get him _so_ far, after all.)

“So Hwanwoong,” The cook raised her eyebrows at him, filling up the tray he was about to serve to one of the customers at the restaurant. “Do you have any time today after work? Maybe we can-” She stopped, as Hwanwoong walked off, bowing to her, bringing the tray to the customers, greeting the couple sitting there politely, placing their ordered food on the table in its designated spot, then bowing, as he left them to themselves.

The cook scowled when he returned, turning her back to Hwanwoong, as she began talking to the dishwasher, who only nodded politely in response, returning to her unattended dishes.

(And when Hwanwoong was finished with work, he scrubbed the grime and dirt off of him in the locker room, sighing, allowing himself to lean against the wall for one second, closing his eyes, allowing the warm water to console him.)

Without a word, he left the restaurant, heading with his bag, taking his usual route to the deli, ready to sit down for a few hours and catch up on his assignments that he didn’t get to work on.

As he approached the deli, he placed his bag behind the counter, bowing to the person leaving, getting out his laptop, typing away, even after his eyes burned, begging him to rest for five minutes, tearing up every now and then.

* * *

Youngjo threw his tablet across the couch, as Gunhak caught it, raising a brow at the action, checking the tablet for any damage, heading to sit with the older, cautiously handing him back the tablet.

“Everything okay?” Gunhak’s eyes were slightly slanted as he stared down at the older, arms crossed across his chest, the piercing in the arch of his eyebrow gleaming under the chandelier’s beaming lights.

Youngjo groaned, burying his head in his hands, gripping onto the roots of his hair tightly, squeezing his eyes shut, his teeth clenched. “Fucking _hell,_ Gunhak, I’m _stupid_!” He yelled, exhaling through his nose, sitting up, chewing on his lip, looking at the tablet next to him on the couch.

(If the tablet had eyes, it would have been rolling its eyes.)

Gunhak smirked. “You just found out?”

“You _douche_!” Youngjo jumped on Gunhak, tackling the younger onto the pillow, as he laughed, trying to pry the other off, who pinched Gunhak, tickling him in the stomach, as Gunhak squirmed, screaming, his squeals echoing through the room, swatting at Youngjo desperately-

“Ge-” Gunhak’s ears turned red, as he fell off of the couch, landing with a large _thump,_ the sound reflecting off of the walls, the room shaking, as Youngjo sat up, satisfied, his hair a mess, his cheekbones hurting from laughing so hard.

The pillows were scattered on the floor, the wooden table in front of them had moved two inches away, and the rug had also shifted out of place.

“Hyung,” Gunhak panted, regaining his breath, fixing his disheveled hair, readjusting the silver ring on his index and ring finger, sitting up straight, blowing lips bubbles. “You’re brutal,” He sighed, leaning on the couch, getting up, dusting off his jeans, sticking out his tongue at the older.

Youngjo only clicked his tongue, getting up, along with Gunhak, jerking towards him, scaring him for a second, then chuckling at the younger’s reaction, shaking his head, turning back to the forgotten tablet, showing Gunhak the screen.

“Look, you idiot.”

Gunhak’s eyes narrowed, looking at the tablet in confusion. “Social media?” He looked up at Youngjo, a look of inquiry sprawled across his face. 

“You buffoon, look _closely,_ ” Youngjo practically shoved the tablet in Gunhak’s eyes, as Gunhak howled, moving back, protesting. “I tried to search for Hwanwoong’s socials to ‘stalk’ him online,” He pointed to the search bar, in which Hwanwoong’s name was typed, along with no results popping up.

Gunhak shot Youngjo a look of concern, which Youngjo only shoved away, flicking the other’s forehead, who only howled in response, playfully punching the other’s arm. “You fucking _llama_ , that won’t help you get the man of your dreams!” Gunhak scoffed, heading to the kitchen, as Youngjo followed him wordlessly, snagging a tootsie roll from the glass box sitting on the counter, popping one in his mouth, throwing the wrapper in the trash, flinging the second one to Gunhak, who caught it without looking. “You have to approach him in a kind manner, and slowly get to know him,” Gunhak put the candy in his mouth, relishing the flavor in his mouth. 

Youngjo pretended to take notes. “Okay, Mister _I totally have a relationship_ , what do you think?” He playfully shoved the other, who only shook his head in disapproval, tisking.

“Really now?” Gunhak pushed himself up on the counter using his arms, rubbing his eyes-

“Oi, stop that, it’s bad,” Youngjo scolded Gunhak, taking his hand out of his eye, gripping the other’s forearm, looking at it in shock. “You’ve been seriously working out, man,” He gawked, as San only snorted.

“Yeah, my baby has a tiny tummy, and I have a whole ass rack of abs _haha_ ,” He rested his arm on Youngjo’s shoulder, taking out his beanie from his back pocket, fixing it on his head.

Youngjo’s eyebrows met, adjourning his words. “....Baby?” 

“ _Yes,_ ” Gunhak spoke flagrantly. “Do you have a problem with me calling me significant other a baby?” 

Youngjo shook his head violently, putting his hands up. “No, no, not at all, Gunnie,” He moved away slightly. “Sorr-”

“Jeez, old man, I was _joking,_ ” Gunhak jested the other, jumping off of the counter and onto the older, who grunted, struggling to stand with the other’s weight piled on top of him.

“Kim-” _Grunt._ “Gunhak-” _Grunt._ “You-” Youngjo fell down, Gunhak bouncing on Youngjo’s stomach constantly, humming happily to himself. “Nitwit!” He pushed the other off, who only frowned, pinching Youngjo’s elbow, as the other hissed, sitting up. “What’s your problem with my _elbow_?” He cried, as Gunhak only chuckled, standing up.

“Calm your saggy tits down, wrinkles,” Gunhak walked over to the fridge, opening the door, as he took out a bottle of orange juice, cupping it with both hands, enjoying the crispy feeling of the bottle spreading up his arms, opening the bottle, as it made a sound, a fresh _click_! He took out a bottle of water, throwing it to Youngjo, who shook his head.

“Beer.”

“Ugh, you’re too much,” Gunhak took out the cold can of beer, popping it open, taking a sip, despite Youngjo’s protests. “Here, have your old man drink,” He handed the can with a sour face, wrinkling his nose as Youngjo snatched the drink.

It was safe to say that they were definitely comfortable around each other, more comfortable than most friends, and enough for people to assume things about the two as well. 

They had grown up together, been with each other through thick and thin, and had gotten to encounter every side of themselves along the way, finding out things about themselves, as well as the other.

But Gunhak having someone else was….new. Anomalous. As though Gunhak had somewhat torn a bit off from the cloth symbolizing their bond, giving that precious fabric away to someone else in his life.

Except, it didn’t _bother_ Youngjo. It just….made the longing in his heart a bit stronger, loneliness cling more to his shadow, and talk to the stars a bit more at night.

“Get your head out of your ass and go after Hwanwoong if you like him,” Gunhak practically inhaled down his orange juice, a bit trailing down his lips, dripping off of his face, as Youngjo groaned at the other’s inhumane drinking habits. “Talk to him. Get to know him,” He wiped the juice off with his sleeve mindlessly. “Be tenacious— _determined_. Piss him off, but not too much. The minute he’s about to head somewhere, offer him a ride. Carry his books for him,” Gunhak instructed, playing with the ring on his lip with his tongue.

“Gunhak, this isn’t the nineteenth century—he’s a strong and independant person, he has like…. _sixteen_ fucking jobs!” Youngjo shook his head at the idea, his body getting tired just from the words. “He’s going to be annoyed, and ask me what the hell is wrong with me,” He ingurgitated the drink, setting it down with a thunk, sighing. “Hwanwoong’s fiery,” He spoke, a smile forming slowly on his lips, his mind drifting away to Hwanwoong’s spunky demeanor, his sassy remarks, and the exuberant spark in his eyes.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t care for him,” Gunhak’s eyebrows rose at Youngjo’s previous remark. “Yeah, this isn’t the nineteenth century,” His hand rose in the air, waving carelessly. “But that doesn’t mean that these small actions won’t make you more noticeable in his eyes. You have to _mean_ what you do—match your actions to your heart,” He prodded a finger into Youngjo’s chest, his nail slightly tickling the older, as he squirmed a bit. “Make your actions speak as loud as your heart.”

“When did you become such a lovey-dovey man?” Youngjo’s shuddered at the thought of the other actually doing these things, shaking his head. 

Gunhak glared at Youngjo, heading towards the door, snagging another tootsie roll from the box. “I told you, I had to learn them on my own. Everything comes with time, so just….” He slowly unwrapped the candy, staring at it. “Take it easy,” He popped the candy in his mouth, walking out of the room. 

Youngjo stared after Gunhak with a dazed look, his lips slightly parted, wondering as to where the boy had learned to be such a Casanova.

Heading towards the box, Youngjo took out two tootsie rolls, smiling to himself, as he slowly nibbled on one.

* * *

Hwanwoong felt the whooshing sound appear in his ears once more, the sound of blood flowing, the sound of his heartbeat, clear and loud, as though he were wearing headphones, and someone was playing it on full blast.

The heartbeat sped up, as though it were a motorcycle, speeding down the road, getting faster with the passing second.

_Thump….thump….thump….thump, thump, thump, thump, thump thump thump thumpthumpthumpthumpthump-_

It scared the _shit_ out of him, as he rushed to an empty hallway, regaining his breath, the world seemingly spinning, as Hwanwoong desperately attempted at getting rid of the sound, to somehow make it all go away, for the heartbeat to calm down, to slow down, to make the world stay still for one goddamn second-

“Hey, Hwanwoong,” A calming voice entered his ears, as his head whirled towards the voice, clinging to a cool marble wall, his eyes wide, body alert. “Hey, are you okay?” 

Hwanwoong’s body loosened as Youngjo approached him slowly, looking down in concern with doe eyes, the sound of the heartbeat slightly fading, but loud enough for Hwanwoong to feel his temple pulsate. “Yeah, yeah,” He exhaled, standing up straight, forcing on a smile, clapping his hands together. “Yeah, I’m fine!”

Youngjo shot Hwanwoong a look of worry, checking Hwanwoong’s forehead with the back of his hand, frowning. “You don’t seem okay, and that smile makes you look like you want to die,” He spoke abruptly, causing Hwanwoong to take a step back, holding onto his bag tightly. “I….could feel your pulse just by putting my hand around your temple…..I….” Youngjo sighed, struggling to find the right words. “How?” He asked in confusion, his face wrinkled in disconcertment, slightly vexed. 

Time paused, as Hwanwoong’s eyes widened. Could the older really feel his heartbeat, or was that just a lie? 

Hwanwoong moved away from Youngjo, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He walked away, clutching the strap of his bag tightly, his eyes downcast, hooded by his bangs, getting lost in the wave of chatterful students, ignoring the older’s call for him. 

Youngjo sighed, looking down at the tootsie roll in his hand, his fingers curling around the candy, as he shoved it back in his pocket, heading to get his bag from Gunhak.

* * *

Hwanwoong sighed, his hands folded, as the doctor repeated what he had just said to her.

“Erratic heartbeat….when you hear your heartbeat?” She asked, as Hwanwoong nodded, playing with his fingers, looking up at her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She clicked her tongue in concentration, writing down the symptoms, as she went back to her computer, typing something in the document, then heading to her phone, dialing a number. “Yeah, Yeri? Print out the document I’m sending to you, okay?” 

Hwanwoong heard a female voice through the phone, slightly scrabbled, as the doctor nodded. “Yeah, just tell Wendy that Doctor Irene needs a photocopy of Yeo Hwanwoong’s revious labs as well,” She put the phone back, heading to Hwanwoong, removing the stethoscope from around her neck, putting it in her ears, holding the bell, as Hwanwoong felt the cold metal through his shirt, goosebumps rising along his arms and neck.

“Alright, _slowly,_ Hwanwoong. In and out,” She inhaled and exhaled with him, as Hwanwoong slowly focused on her, inhaling and exhaling along with her for a while, until she nodded, removing the earpieces from her ears, and putting the tubing around her neck, turning back to the report she typed up, resending it to some person with a long email address. 

A knock on the door disrupted the silence, as a young girl with long, blonde hair entered, with kitten-like features, and a young, youthful face, who Hwanwoong assumed to be the girl Yeri. Her face was soft and warm, matching her lively smile. 

“Ah, Yeri, are those the files?” Irene raised her brows, turning in her black swivel chair, opening a manilla file folder, as Yeri approached her, giving Hwanwoong the opportunity to see the pencil in the side of her head, right above her ear, which was decorated with glittering piercings. 

“Yeah,” She replied, handing them over to Irene, with large, bold letters reading _Yeo Hwanwoong,_ in thick black sharpie. 

“Thanks.”

Yeri nodded, bowing at the doctor, heading to leave, before stopping at the doorway, looking back once more. “Oh, Irene.”  
Irene looked up from the papers, humming. 

“Based off of the symptoms typed, my best guess would be heart murmur,” Her fingers tapped lightly on the painted door frame, head leaning against it. “Look at his history as a child. I was only able to skim it, but some of the basics lead me to my conclusion. But….I don't know,” She smiled shrugging, showing off her pearly whites. “I could be wrong.”  
Irene nodded, as Yeri left, closing the wooden door behind her, as she turned to the papers, skimming them, frowning, as she resumed her humming, nodding at the gibberish written down. “Yeri’s right,” She spoke after a while of silence, turning to look at-

Another knock interrupted them, as Irene sighed exasperatedly. “Yes?” She asked, her voice dragging out.

The door handle slowly turned, as the door opened soundlessly, a young man standing there, looking at Hwanwoong, then back at the doctor. 

It was silent for a while, as Hongjoong stared at him, his mouth slightly ajar, glimming. “Youngjo,” Hwanwoong spoke, slightly taken aback at the other’s appearance at the doctor’s place.

Irene raised a brow. “You two….know each other?” She peered back and forth between the two, pointing with her pen, as Youngjo nodded, stepping in. “I….Mister Kim, why are you here? I don’t see you until another hour,” She bit the tip of her pen, taking off her glasses, setting them on Hwanwoong’s closed files.

Youngjo sighed in worry. “I know Hwanwoong. And I’m here as a friend for him,” He stepped inside the room, closing the door slightly behind him carefully, just as he had opened it: soundlessly.

(Maybe the word friend made Hwanwoong wince internally.)

Irene kept her gaze still on Youngjo, then flickering her attention over to Hwanwoong. “I mean….this is your personal matter, Hwanwoong,” She put the pen down next to her glasses, standing up. “Do you want Mister Kim to remain in the room while I talk about your medical history? Because then I’d have to list him down in the records as close family.”

Hwanwoong’s eyes intensified, as he thought about it. This was the start of something….new.

All his life, he had never shared anything about himself with someone other than his mother—solely keeping everything to himself.

And then Kim Youngjo came along, with the kind eyes, and the soft voice, and the caring embrace, with a heart so big he could fit the whole damn world in it. With gentle features and amiable actions—so _willing,_ so determined.

So fucking _stubborn._

But so fucking _eager_. 

As though if he could, he would run to the depths of the universe to pick a star for Hwanwoong and bring it back for him.

So Hwanwoong nodded, somewhat pushing himself a bit more. For the sake of his mother.

“Yes, Doctor. He can stay here.”  
Irene nodded, carrying on with her “lecture” about Hwanwoong’s health, and how he grew up, and how his surroundings impacted his current conditions—about him being slightly malnutritioned, and his muscles weaker than before, and about how Hwanwoong needed more rest.

“I told you, _listen_ to your mother, Hwanwoong!” Irene bit the tip of her glasses, putting them back on the pile of papers. “But _no_!” She sighed, closing her pen, opening a drawer, pulling out a prescription pad, setting it down. “And now look,” Her voice softened, her eyebrows wrinkling in empathy, slightly frowning. “She can’t tell you that anymore,” Her voice reiterated in the four walls, as Hwanwoong’s shoulders slightly fell with his heart, as though someone had punched him in the gut. 

It was silent for a moment, until Hwanwoong nodded, swallowing the heavy lump in his throat (which felt more like a rock, or a pebble). “Okay,” He bit his lip. “I’ll quit one of my jobs,” His voice was tremulous, but defiant. “But then uni, Doc,” He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Food. A place to stay. I can’t just make money appear out of thin air, Doctor, right?” He questioned, biting his tongue.

Irene sighed. “You still live in that old apartment, right?” She raised her brows. “The one where your mom was?”

Hwanwoong nodded silently, his body slowly shutting down, feeling his eyes burn, his mouth shrivel, drying up, like a leaf.

“Go live in a dorm,” She scolded, wrote something on the prescription pad, clicking back to another file on her computer. “Move in with a friend,” She ripped off the paper, handing it to Youngjo, who stared up in surprise. “Take it,” She ushered him to take the paper, as he slowly lifted his hands, taking it politely, looking over at Hwanwoong in confusion.

“Uh….what should I do with this?” He questioned slowly, turning the paper over, inspecting it. 

“Eat it,” Irene ordered, as Youngjo sat up in alarm, looking at her in worry.

“....What?”

Irene laughed, playfully patting his back. “I’m joking,” She went back to the open files, closing them, putting on her glasses. “This is for Hwanwoong,” She sat down in her chair. “I’m depending on _you_ to help him get these certain Vitamins, and the Anxiolytic written, okay?” 

Youngjo only nodded in response, helping Hwanwoong off of the examine table, as the younger hopped off, his hand still in Youngjo’s warm one. “Yes ma’am.”  
She smiled. “Alright, Hwanwoong, you can sit on the chair, and Youngjo, I’ll just do the regular procedure, and then we’ll be done, okay?”

Youngjo walked Hwanwoong over to the chair, dropping a tootsie roll in his lap, as the younger smiled, eagerly chewing on it.

Irene chuckled, playfully rolling her eyes. “Young love,” She muttered under her breath, taking off her stethoscope, headed towards Youngjo, plugging the earpieces in her ears.

* * *

“So….heart murmur?” Youngjo questioned as they exited the clinic, looking down at the younger, holding the glass door open for him, as Hwanwoong smiled, thanking him.

“Yeah,” Hwanwoong felt the cool breeze bite his skin, as he tugged his denim jacket tighter around him, yawning, walking down the stairs, Youngjo’s hand slightly holding onto Hongjoong’s elbow safely. “Apparently it was seen coming by the previous doctor I had,” Hwanwoong kicked a few pebbles that appeared in the pathway, his hands folded behind his back. 

Youngjo felt his heart melt at the smaller’s actions, bringing an arm around him, steering him towards a restaurant, casing Hwanwoong to look up, eyes wide.

“Where are we going?”

Youngjo smiled, his eyes lighting up the air around them. “You’ll see.”

* * *

“ ‘M full!” Hwanwoong sat back, putting the wooden chopsticks down, sighing in relief, smiling up at Youngjo. “That was amazing!” He bowed slightly to Youngjo while sitting down, as the older tisked.

“You’re full already?” He asked, as a waitress picked up their plates, taking them away. “I was going to order dessert!” 

Hwanwoong looked up. “Dessert?” He asked, excited, leaning forward on the table. “Really?”

Youngjo chuckled, nodding. “Yes, I was going to order Yakgwa, silly.”

Hwanwoong pretended to think for a few seconds, looking down at his stomach, battling for a few seconds as to whether he should eat more or not. “Yakgwa sounds nice,” He smiled shyly at the older, who only ruffled Hwanwoong’s hair.

“Can we get a waiter?” Youngjo asked, as a woman dressed formally came forward, bowing to the both of them, her notepad and pen equipped. “Can we get Yakgwa for the both of us?” 

She nodded, writing it down. “That’s it?” She confirmed, as Youngjo nodded, thanking her as she left, passing on their order to the workers, who got ready to prepare the desert.

They sat there in silence after a chatterful arrival and dinner filled with laughter, enjoying the scenery.

The silence was comforting, wrapping its arms around them, bringing them closer together, speaking to them in a language of its own, in a language that demanded the absence of sound.

“You know,” Hwanwoong spoke after a while of silence, turning to look at the other, who hummed in response, still looking off at the workers. “The kitchen is like a battlefield,” His words left an impact, as Youngjo eyes turned to Hwanwoong, eyes keen. Intelligent, but not sharp.

“How so?” His soft, yet slightly husky undertone boomed in Hwanwoong’s ears, biting his lips, his warm gaze focused on Hwanwoong. 

Hwanwoong rested his face in his hands, looking like a small, tiny child. “Well, think about it,” He said, tilting his head slightly. “A battlefield is chaotic, filled with all sorts of chaos and constant movement,” He scrunched his nose, pressing his lips together. “And just like a battlefield, it's noisy,” He concluded his statement proudly, sitting up, as Youngjo fought the urge to laugh.

“Then that would also be a club, Woongie,” He said through snorts, pressing his lips to compress his chortles. 

Hwanwoong bit the inside of his cheek, coming to the realization of his statement. “Yeah,” He sighed, his voice querulant. 

Youngjo leaned over, patting his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hwanwoong, I’m sure you’ll find the right way to word that next time,” He leaned back, as a waiter delivered their dessert, bowing to them as she left, smiling when they thanked her.

They ate in peace, Hwanwoong savoring the sweet for a long time, taking his time to eat them, as Youngjo put a few pieces of his own on Hwanwoong’s plate. 

“Y’know,” Hwanwoong spoke, looking at Youngjo. “My mom used to make these a lot,” He spoke, his voice suddenly mellow, as Youngjo’s head jerked up, his eyes slightly wide. Hongjoong tightly smiled, eyes brimming with pain. “And they were fucking delicious,” He laughed, looking down at the sweets neatly placed in the plate, forming a pattern of decoration. 

Youngjo’s heart ached at the raw tone of the other’s—hard and scratchy, as though he were unable to get away from something, clawing at it, gripping onto the last bits of survival, but unable to escape the horror of something, unable to look at Youngjo in the eyes-

“Would you like your check?” The waitresses' monotone-like voice interrupted the both of them, as Hwanwoong jumped, the table and its objects slightly convulsing. 

Youngjo nodded, as she placed down a folder, with a neatly clipped tab inside, including the appetizers, the drinks, the meals, and etcetera, causing the older to pull his wallet out of his blazer pocket, removing a sleek black card, handing it to the waiter, the card luminously resting in between his index and middle finger.

The bill was paid for, as Youngjo finished his desert.

When they left the restaurant, Hwanwoong’s Yakgwa remained untouched.

* * *

Youngjo kept a hand steady on the steering wheel as he flashed a glimpse of Hwanwoong, his eyes trained on the younger. It was silent, nothing but the sound of the cars accompanying the paved roads filling the air.

“You okay?” 

Hwanwoong looked over at Youngjo, his face resting on his hand, eyes slightly misty. “Yeah,” His voice was quiet, as though he was trying to whisper, to keep everything bundled up inside of him.

“You sure?” Youngjo tapped the steering wheel as they waited in the line of cars in front of them. “You've been quiet since dessert,” His voice was on edge, as though he were waiting for Hwanwoong to pounce at him any second, and tell him to shut up, or that he needed to mind his _own_ fucking business-

But Hwanwoong only nodded, returning his sight back to the window, eyes lost in the clouds blanketing the sky, drifting away every now and then, as though he were nonchalantly brushing away Youngjo’s totally absurd thoughts, as though they made no sense whatsoever and were completely incorrect.

The rest of the drive lapsed by in utter silence and vapidness, both unsure of what to say, allowing nothing more than the mere buzz and chirping of the sparrows to enter their ears. 

And as they neared a deli, Hwanwoong motioned for Youngjo to stop by a street corner. “Thank you,” He spoke, as Youngjo drove in confusion, stopping by the corner, looking at the younger, who grabbed his things, ready to head out of the car. 

“Wait wait wait,” Youngjo stopped Hwanwoong, a hand on his elbow, as the younger looked over, his bag in his hand. “You’re getting off _here_?” 

Hwanwoong raised a thin brow at the question, removing his elbow from the other’s silky grip, leaving the car, slinging his bag over his shoulder (maybe the zipper hit Youngjo in the face). 

When Hwanwoong slammed the door shut, Youngjo sat in the car silently, his sigh filling the empty air.

As Hwanwoong entered the store, for the first time, the worker before him spared him a glance, reassuringly patting his shoulder before leaving.

* * *

Gunhak popped a chip into his mouth, laughing. “Youngjo, you’re not _courting_ him, this isn’t the nineteen hundreds,” The bag of chips crumpled slightly as he shifted on the maroon couch, the younger bringing a pillow to his chest. 

Youngjo glared at the other, snagging a chip from the bag in Gunhak’s hand, munching on it, quietly sending daggers (with steam practically heaving out of his nose and ears). 

“Whatever,” Gunhak looked at the other for a while, eyeing him. “You’re awfully quiet, hyung,” Gunhak raised a brow.

“No one plans a murder out loud,” Youngjo spared the other a glance, his gaze returning to the window, hearing Gunhak dramatically gasp, practically using up all the energy in his lungs.

“ _Youngjo_!” Gunhak put a hand on his chest, eyes wide, wiping away a fake tear. “I can’t believe you’d actually want to hurt _me,_ _the_ Kim Gunhak!” 

Youngjo rolled his eyes, shoving Gunhak off of the couch, as he landed with a heavy _thud!_ “Shut up, you fuck waffle,” He reached over, hitting Gunhak on the head, as the younger whined, tugging on Youngjo’s arm, bringing the other down on top of him, giggling pure honey. “You idiot!” Youngjo felt his head hit Gunhak’s, as he propped himself up on his elbows, hovering over Gunhak, looking down at him. 

Gunhak started up at Youngjo, watching the other watch him, staying in the position for a while, as Youngjo’s gaze traveled down to Gunhak’s lips, his eyes resting there for a while.

Gunhak looked back up, the slight confusion in his eyes draped by his bangs, his lips slightly parted.

Youngjo shook his head, scoffing. “How the fuck does your boyfriend kiss your ugly-”

Gunhak smacked Youngjo’s adam’s apple, as Youngjo only chuckled-

“Mister Kim-oh-I’m sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,” A maid with wide eyes stood there, a small figure running out, as Youngjo got off of Gunhak, standing up, helping the younger up, shaking his head.

“You weren’t interrupting, we were simply….jestering one another,” He looked back at the younger, who shrugged his shoulders. “What is the matter?” He crouched down slightly, as she looked back, eyes wide.

“Well, a young man….” She paused, turning back to look for the person, confusion sprawled across her face. “He was here,” She pointed to the spot behind her, where the hooded person was standing. “He was looking for….” She stopped, looking around the place.

“Dongju?” Gunhak asked her, as she shook her head, causing the other to sigh in relief. “Wait, lemme go text him,” Gunhak headed out to find his phone.

“Perhaps he left his name?” Youngjo questioned, following the anxious maid, who only shook her head, peering through the rooms.

“No, he simply said he had to ask you something, but….” She sighed heavily, heading to the living room. “Sorry, Mister Kim, you may return to your activities,” She frantically searched through the house, heading to the cameras, searching through them, looking back, seeing Youngjo standing behind her. “This young man,” She zoomed in on his face, as Youngjo’s face contorted, twisting. 

“....Hwanwoong?” 

The maid looked over at him. “You know him?” 

Youngjo nodded, eyebrows brought together. “Yeah, yeah, he….” Youngjo looked at the paused screen. “He’s in my uni, has the same language course as I do.” 

The maid nodded, dusting off her dress, bowing to Youngjo. “He seemed perturbed,” She left, leaving Youngjo with nothing more but her words, sending him into a spiral of concern. 

Gunhak whistled, throwing his phone up in the air and catching it as he entered the room, eyeing Youngjo. “What’s up?”

Youngjo only sighed, shaking his head, grabbing his car keys, draping his coat over his shoulders, twisting the front door’s knob. “Nothing, just going for a drive.”

* * *

Hwanwoong scrubbed his eyes, catching his breath, as he stood in the empty alleyway, sniffling. “Fucking stand _up_ ,Yeo Hwanwoong, and get _on_ with your life,” He hissed at himself, clenching his jaw. “You have a _job_ to get to.”

Walking out of the alleyway, Hwanwoong started to head to his restaurant, occasionally swiping at his eyes every now and then, swallowing down that heavy lump reappearing in his throat, all because of that fucking _heartthrob,_ Kim _fucking_

Youngjo. 

Oh, Kim Youngjo, with a voice as entrancing as his face. With his hugs as warm as his features. 

_Get these stupid thoughts out of your head,_ Hwanwoong colded himself, opening the door to his workplace, the jingling bells embellishing his entrance.

“Afternoon,” Hwanwoong whistled, heading behind the counter, the people working there nodding in response, going on about their activities.

“Sushi for table five, hurry!” The cook’s demanding voice booming through the kitchen, as workers scurried to help out.

Back in the changing room, Hwanwoong shuddered, frantically fixing his button-up shirt, all alone in the room—he couldn’t help wondering as to why Youngjo would even _look_ at him if he already had a boyfriend.

Kim Gunhak, the school’s “devil”, they liked to call him—with a smile as evil as the moon’s, and a mind filled with thought that Lucifer himself could not decipher—with Kim Youngjo?

It just didn’t— _couldn’t_ make sense, no matter how many times Hwanwoong thought that it was true. 

Maybe because his mind had adjusted to the sight of Youngjo politely declining others, not sticking close to anyone at all except for Gunhak-

 _Oh._ That made sense now—all of it did—suddenly, a bit too abruptly, the harsh reality of how things were crashed down on Hwanwoong’s mind a bit too brutally, like a gigantic wave suddenly dragging one underwater, their body slamming into the cold floor, pebbles scratching them, the water gushing forth into their ears, and nose, and it all just fucking _hurt_ , because the waves were too immense, to extreme, too powerful.

Because it made Hwanwoong feel a bit more alone—it drained the beauty from the small moments they shared together, making them bland and old. 

That doctor’s visit didn’t mean anything anymore—neither did the small visit to the café, nor did the small drive they shared the other week. Nor did that two-hour restaurant dinner hold anything truly special to Hwanwoong.

Because now, he was alone (as he always was). He was slowly crawling back into the dark tunnel of despair and loneliness, his old habit of smoking slowly crawling back onto his fingertips, the want of a cigarette stick longing to be in between his fingers, resting there.

So he stayed in the shower for five more minutes, taking out his last stick from the box, as he lit it, inhaling the nicotine, feeling the drug fill his lungs, as he let it all out with a sigh, the warm water running down his back.

* * *

Youngjo rushed inside the deli, as the person behind the counter looked up, slightly alarmed by the sudden entrance. “Hwan…..woong,” Youngjo panted, out of breath, his hands on his knees, as he caught his breath. 

The person stared back, the same confused, yet alarmed expression on their face, Youngjo’s breathy words being processed at a very slow pace. “Hwanwoong?”

Youngjo nodded, standing up straight. “Have you seen him?” Panic was an undertone in his voice, covered by the slight agitation in his voice, along with a sense of turmoil bubbling up inside of him.

The cashier only shook her head. “He’s been odd this past week-” That itself was enough for Youngjo to sprint out of the store in the same manner he entered, leaving the cashier there, the same expression still standing on her face, her mouth agape, staring after him.

Youngjo beeped his car, rushing inside, fumbling with his seatbelt, driving off in a frenzy, his mind foggy.

Why was Hwanwoong looking for him? Was everything okay? Was Hwanwoong having a crisis of some sort—did he need support of any sort? Did his heart murmur get worse? 

Hwanwoong was demure, in a way. Not in the manner that he was necessarily an introvert, but rather, he wasn’t a people person. He wasn’t good at expressing himself, and often got shy when needing to speak in a large group of people, unaware of how to string his words together to make it seem as though he was speaking a human language that actually existed without stuttering the hell out of himself. 

But then, he was also feisty at times—around those who he felt he was a bit more acquainted with. Not acquainted enough to be comfortable around them, but just enough to snap back an irascible remark—one that was created by rage and fueled by fury. 

Youngjo slowed down slightly, his foot tapping on the brake pedal as he waited at the light, frowning.

What did that make _him_ ? How acquainted was he to know about Hwanwoong’s medical history, to know that his mother was no longer in this world? To know that he was an only child, that he loved playing the guitar? That he absolutely _loves_ movies and that he had these cute tiny film slate slippers? That he loved bubble tea? That he has first reformed one of his own pieces of clothing when he was eight—a pair of shoes that ended up looking like absolute shit? That he loved swings, and he once sat on a swing for three hours because he was scared that the swing would be lonely? That he put his milk in before his cereal first? That he couldn’t survive a damn day without his coffee otherwise he’d drop that fucking second because he overworked himself too much?

That he was like a vulnerable child on the inside who wanted to hold someone’s hand and walk with them through the maze of life, but never showed it? Who acted strong and tough—and ended up with a shield made of stone to protect himself with, but at times, the rock crumbled, and thus forth gushed upon springs and lakes of tears, and oceans of heartbreak? 

What did it make Youngjo—knowing all this? Was he truly an acquaintance—not even a bit more than a friend to Hwanwoong?

He saw the way Hwanwoong looked at him—and truthfully felt the same way back. 

At first, it was for his face—and maybe his ass as well (Hongjoong _did_ have a nice ass, to be fair). 

But later then, he got to see every side of Hwanwoong, like a Rubik’s cube—mixed up together, and scattered all apart, in every muddled pattern, then put together nicely, color-coordinated during the rare hours of his sleep, and his hustling hours during midday. 

He saw the frightened side—the one whose eyes would widen, and his body curling up in itself, trying to find refuge, the eye in the storm, the lost child, the vulnerable one, who had no companion, who was just searching for someone’s hand to hold. 

He saw the excited child—the one who was filled with joy—eyes bright enough to outshine every star in the universe, with tiny hands and feet waving, a smile brighter than the sun itself, with laughter dripping with pure honey, the one who could treasure this happiness for ages.

He saw the melancholic child—the one who was filled with hurt and pain—the one whose wounds were still too deep to fully heal, whose eyes would not betray his brain’s commands to not let his tears fall, the one who sat alone, who poured his heart and soul into every single song he played, fingers cramped by holding the frets too hard, from gripping the guitar pick too harshly for hours—just to not feel that utterly frightening wave of agony lined with woe undertake him in its dreadfully right grip. 

He saw the angry child—fuming with anger bubbling inside of him, eyes burning with rage, a wave of vehemence surging through him, evident through the furrowed brows, scrunched lips, and clenched teeth, ready to throw a punch, or flit remarks enough to compensate for the lost punch, the one who would tear up with so much anger contorted with sadness, rooting deep with loneliness. 

He saw the shy child—who’d turn in on himself, fiddling with his fingers, biting his lips, eyes searching for a way out that the brain would not assist in—no matter how hard the young one thought, searched, stumbling over vowels, lumbering over letters, biting his tongue—the kid who was secretly scared of what others would say, but would act as though everything brushed off of his shoulders, into a drain of nothings. 

He saw the cranky boy—who just wanted a hug, a bit of comforting, a few hushed nothings, a soft kiss to his temple, a bit of time to sit down and binge watch a stupid cartoon while talking about everything yet nothing that mattered. Who needed to have fingers running through his hair as a lullaby weaved through the silence, soothing him to sleep. Who was just so fucking _lonely_ , and wanted to be loved, more than anything. Who wanted to be held in his arms like tomorrow was never going to come.

He saw Yeo Hwanwoong, and loved every single aspect of him. Every single side, every corner. 

Hwanwoong was the star that lit up the galaxies in the sky, the meteor shower that rained upon the night sky—that made people stand and stare in awe.

And Youngjo loved his Hwanwoong, but the fear in his heart did not allow him to express himself.

* * *

As far as Hwanwoong knew, he never thought he’d feel the same grief all over again in his life after experiencing that pain during his mother’s death.

He had lost the one person so dearly important to him, a vital human to keep him functioning, the one thing that kept him alive every day—practically keeping his will to live in her right hand.

So when Hwanwoong acknowledged the fact that him and Youngjo were nothing more than a mere fling that happened for fun, the same pain and grief returned to his heart—in the same manner that it had when he had truly let it sit in his mind—like a deep, dark tunnel, with almost no end in sight.

Hwanwoong kept falling, and falling, and falling, getting more and more tired with every breeze swiping his ear, his body loose, with no clear horizon, no light, simply surrounded by nothing other than the inviting lack of light accompanied by the heavy wind in his ears, hands outstretched, reaching for nothing, simply descending, and descending, and descend-

Until he hit a hard, _piecing_ rock bottom—one that did not spare him of the mercy from this cruel, abhorrent pain, that seemed to seep into every juncture, every bone, every, muscle, every curve and every hair on his body—until there was nothing left to do except to cry and close his eyes, praying for everything to stop.

Until his tears mixed in with his sweat and snot, and he hiccuped, and hit at the floor around him, and sobbed, letting his body shake, letting the blood from his nails digging into his palms trail down his arms, letting his head _throb_ with utter pain, letting himself tug at his hair, let himself kick at the air, letting himself scream for hours, just to get rid of that pain, that—that _misery,_ that never-ending grief that weighed him down, stilling him in place, with all that bitterness, desolation practically flowing in his blood, singing out to the woe and melancholy rooted deep in the veins of his heart.

Until he slowly realized that he would no longer truly be able to get _over_ the fact that his mother was no longer with him—he could never recover from that. No, it was impossible to overcome the pain. 

Because it wasn’t the _fact_ that his mother died that hurt him, it was the _realization._

It was waking up to an empty apartment, to having no one to kiss on the forehead before leaving for school, to have no one to hum with while making dinner with, to having no one to wash the dishes with, to have no one to whine with, and _bitch_ about all the rich kids, about the papers, the mean professors, to having no one to come home to after a long day of work and share a hearty embrace with, to having no one to drink hot chocolate with while huddling together in front of the heater, to having no one to tell his corny and _stupid_ jokes to, to having no one to look at. 

No one to share his problems with—no one to tell him that everything would be okay—to tell him that he’d get through everything because he was a strong boy, and comfort him, and no one to reach over and squeeze his hand reassuringly in nights that were still with fear and anxious worries of the future that lied ahead. 

He was all alone—something that he _feared_ was happening—it was all like being blindfolded and asked to walk across a river on nothing but a thin wooden board which was guaranteed to not assist much, not assured to assuage fears very well.

His years of being alone continued on, as he drizzled through his first three years of uni, in hopes of getting out just as he had come—alone, silently, hardworking, and unsocial. That meant not talking to people, unless it benefited Hwanwoong. 

(It also shouted: _No Friends_.)

He woke up, went to uni, focused his best in classes, went straight to his workplaces, finished whatever he could in the small moments he got to work on a paper, glancing back and forth between scattered papers filled with inscrutable scrawls of letters stringed together worth enough to contribute to a paper with fancy lettering and a golden stamp declaring his intelligence, stating the fact that he was now worthy enough to be in society and have a proper job.

He went home, finished his work, and went to sleep, minding his own business, too busy looking for ways to keep money on the table (while taking a look at what more jobs he could squeeze into his schedule).

As long as he had coffee, he was fine. He could stand up, caffeine combusting in his system, keeping his nerves jittery, keeping him constantly on his toes at all times.

But then it all rooted back to the problem that caused all of this: lack of money. 

There was a time where Hwanwoong and his mother both worked an inhumane number of hours, ready to drop, yet trudging on, treading to their workplaces, saving up, working harder than ever, determined.

Stubborn.

So they worked, and worked, and heaved through days, sleeping inhumane hours in the night (not even through the whole night), excitedly placing small piles of cash together, gathering their bills, paying off previous debt, removing excess burdens on their shoulders that did not allow them to stand tall.

They invested in plans for the future—ones that included a bigger apartment, trips out of their country, visiting places that seemed to be myths, and eating out more often.

Then they visited Hawaii, and surfed in Malibu, their inner children now released from the cages that held them tight in metal bars, settling down in a comfortable hotel, eyes wide, trailing across the cream-colored walls, the open space, the cool wooden floors, the large king sized beds, the comfy mattresses accompanied by the silky bed sheets, in which a wonderful view of the beach assured to be seen through the large window. What a luxury—one that they built their way up to, treasuring every penny that they worked for, warmth building in their hearts.

Never in that euphoric period of their lives did either one of them imagine leaving the other all alone in the world by themselves with the world of wickedness and absolute discord, with lonely days and even lonelier nights, misery accompanying the young boy better than the world could ever. 

Never did Hwanwoong imagine finding— _experiencing_ that secure feeling ever again after his mother’s death—the feeling of harmony and peace—as though he were slightly sheltered from the world, yet exposed just the slightest bit to see everything he needed to, undergo the change he needed to in order to form into an adult. 

He never _dreamed_ of finding someone else who could be his tree—and provide him from with a cool, draping shade, harboring him from the cruel glare of the sun, yet allowing him to get up and move out of the shade, and step out into the glistening rays of the sun, and get a taste of what it felt like to bask in the sun for a while, feeling the warmth cover every inch of him, like a large blanket, casting his shadow to the ground.

Then along the sea of university, emerged Kim Youngjo: the man who leaped into Hwanwoong’s life and swept him off his feet—a tale you’d hear in a cliché story. But this had to be the best cliché story to come along Hwanwoong’s life (even if it _were_ one). 

Kim Youngjo was the first and last person Hwanwoong promised to ever open a small crack of himself to, and expose a raw streak of himself that ran deep in his heart, before having it shattered viciously.

Ah, the man with a voice as gracious as his movements, with a laugh as soft as his touches, with a smile as warm as his hugs.

With a man as delightful as Hwanwoong’s mother—both able to create a bright fire in a room whose hearth had been empty for years, its ashes crinkling and dusting up the chimneys.

Both able to light up a room with nothing but their presence, in a room full of unused candles, able to speak with a tone full of resonance and vividness, their eyes pouring galaxies while looking into the eyes of someone they treasured deeply.

Both of them gave embraces as though it were their last ones—heartily holding one to their chest, rocking them, assuring them with actions that overpowered words greatly-

And maybe Hwanwoong always knew the fact that Youngjo wasn’t his. Youngjo never _was_ . And it wasn’t the _fact_ that hit.

Once again, it was the _realization_ pushing him off and ramming him into an avalanche of heartbreak and pain that seemed like a never-ending well—one with no ending in sight.

Leaving him all alone, in a tunnel of despair and ache, with no light to guide him, as he trudged, dark, heavy footsteps, looking desperately for a way out.

* * *

“Hello,” Youngjo stormed into the restaurant, panting, perspiration slightly gathered on his forehead. He stood in front of the counter, hands slammed down on the cool marble, catching his breath, the person at the front slightly alarmed. 

“Good evening, how may I help you?” The man chuckled, offering a tight smile at Youngjo’s state, his hands still by his sides.

“Hwanwoong, have you….” He looked around, trying to see who was in the kitchen (which was a completely separate part of the restaurant, so doing that was quite difficult), searching for him. “Have you seen Hwanwoong?” His eyes made their way back to the man at the front, who furrowed his brows together at Youngjo’s peculiar question.

“Hwanwoong. Yeo Hwanwoong? This tall?” He made an approximate estimate, as Youngjo nodded immediately, eyes wide. 

“Yes, _yes_ , have you seen him?”

The man winced, looking back into the kitchen, the lightweight doors swinging, opening and closing as food was brought out and dishes were brought back in. “I’m not sure, I’ll ask someone to check….” He motioned to a table nearby, ushering Youngjo in that direction as he came out from behind the counter. “Sir, how about you sit down, uh….” He held out the chair for Youngjo to sit in, as he bowed, sitting down. “Can I get you juice? Water? A beverage of food of some sort?” 

Youngjo shook his head. “Just….please get me Hwanwoong, I _need_ to talk to him,” He urged, looking up at the man with pleading eyes, his lips turned downwards. 

The man sighed, nodding. “Alright, sir, I’ll see if he’s still here or not,” He patted Youngjo’s shoulder before leaving, as Youngjo only nodded in response, looking around the fancy diner, seeing _loads_ of people walking in and out, mostly couples seated, with a plentiful amount of wine encompassing the room, spreading it’s pleasant aroma in the air. 

The kitchen door was held open by the man’s foot, who was standing in the kitchen, a small glimpse available to see, as he was clearly talking, slight frustration displayed on his face, along with his gestures. 

Finally, he sighed, shaking his head, walking outside, the door oscillating as he made his way to Youngjo, shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” He spoke, his voice full of empathy and guilt. “He’s….not here at the moment, sir.” 

Youngjo nodded, eyes trailing back to the small window in the kitchen door, eyes lingering on there. “Alright,” He slapped his hands on his thighs, nodding. “I’ll just wait here until he comes,” He exhaled, turning to face the vase of roses sitting in the middle of the table, hands crossed across his chest, stubbornly seating himself.

The man sighed, but as he made his way to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but smile, opening the kitchen door. “Your boyfriend is going to wait for you—he thinks you’re coming by later,” He chortled, as Hwanwoong turned beet red, fiddling with his fingers.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Hwanwoong spoke demurely, biting his lip, shaking his head. “And I don’t care,” He scoffed, returning back to the meal he was cooking, getting lost in the ingredients, chopping and mixing away. 

A woman exchanged glances with the man, chuckling. “He’ll learn, Suho, stop worrying,” She nudged him, as he turned to look at her, rubbing the back of his head. 

“I hope so,” He shrugged, heading back out, leaving Hwanwoong to his work, who ignored both remarks, a weight drowning the world away, pressing down onto his heart, seemingly making it harder to breathe.

Because no matter how much he told his mind to completely forget about the man sitting outside, erase him from Hwanwoong’s mind, remind himself that there was no such man out there in the world, there was _something_ in his heart.

Something that urged him to go out and run to the man sitting outside, to go out and embrace him, and hold hands, and simply _treasure_ the man sitting outside, and simply look at his face, and just _breathe._

Take in every small detail about him—his deep, wistful eyes, filled with years of eloquence and soul, swirling in a depth of love and warmth, like a cup of hot, dark coffee—keeping one on their toes at all times, yet something one could relax into, and unveil their stress into, something that they felt they could rely on, something people couldn't live without.

For maybe Youngjo had become one of those people, in just a small time span, that Hwanwoong couldn’t live without.

Maybe Hwanwoong wanted to kiss the tip of his narrow, avain nose, with a soft turn, and small, dainty features, and let his lips trail down and blanket the other’s, soft, lax lips, luscious and kind, with slight traces of coral edging through the details in his lips, complementing his perfect smile, with aligned, pearly whites, displayed neatly whenever his heart was bursting with joy, decorating his cheekbones.

Maybe it was the fact that thinking about all of this made Hwanwoong almost burn his meal, as another cook in the room yelled at him, causing him to flinch and turn off the stove, frantically moving around the vegetables in the pan, taking it off of the stove, shoving the elements into the small bowl neatly, sighing in relief.

“What the _fuck_ , Yeo?!” A chef ran over to him, grabbing the pan and metal chopsticks from him, throwing them into the sink, the dishes consulting in alarm, as the dishwasher only shook her head, going back to scrubbing. 

Hwanwoong stood there, eyes downcast, glued to the ground. “Sorry sir,” He spoke firmly, bowing to him, looking up. “It was a mistake, but I managed to get it out-”

“Bullshit!” The chef spat in his face, moving closer, towering over the younger. “ _I’m_ the reason you still even _have_ this job, yet you’re going to speak back to me, like an ungrateful little….” He clenched his fist, threateningly raising it at Hwanwoong, who flinched the slightest bit, looking down, his whole body tense. “Leave,” He sighed, pointing to the door, not even looking at Hwanwoong, who stood there silently, hands wringing one another. “ _Leave_!” The man roared, causing Hongjoong to flinch once more, nodding, rushing towards the changing room. 

Tears pricking at his eyes, Hwanwoong rushed to the room, stripping his apron and dress shirt off, biting his lower protruding lip from trembling, swallowing the lump in his throat, blinking his eyes rapidly, as he opened the small locker with his belongings, frantically shoving the hoodie over his head, shoving it down his body, jumping into his jeans, shimmying through them, jumping into his converse (that ended up not-so-great—converse aren't the easiest thing to slide into), grabbing his clothes and shoving them in his bag.

Before he left, he fixed his hair once more, swinging his bag over his shoulder, tiptoeing quietly, drawing no attention to himself, he successfully exited the kitchen, sighing once more as he entered the dining room, a fancy aura immediately falling upon the room, lingering in the air around him, along with small bits of wine, dawdling through the tables and people.

This was uncomfortable.

 _Being_ here was just….distressing, making him ill at ease. He wished to leave at once, frenziedly making his way out the door, avoiding all eye contact, practically as quiet as a mouse, pushing the door open, the night air greeting him, as he sighed happily, exhaling in relief, feeling a burden lifted off of his-

“Hwanwoong,” The world seemingly stopped, as that pure, honey-like voice dropped into Hwanwoong’s ears, gently halting him in his footsteps, causing an internal war within himself, one that he often inflicted upon Youngjo. 

The sound of footsteps got closer, as Hwanwoong inhaled sharply, his whole body stiff, stuck in its place, feeling Youngjo’s warm presence behind him.

“Hwanwoong,” He spoke once more, a soft, yet pleasing, melodic voice, one rich and layered, as Hwanwoong felt a light hand on his shoulder (even if the hand felt like an anchor). “Please look at me,” Youngjo urged, slightly squeezing the younger’s shoulder just the slightest bit, the despair in his voice growing, increasing, causing his voice to lilt.

Hwanwoong turned around as a tear slipped down his eye, falling onto his shoe, with a soft, yet audible _tap,_ as Youngjo reached out, bringing Hwanwoong into his warm, everlasting embrace, hugging the boy like it was his last hug. 

Holding the boy with a sense of cherishment, his grip not harsh, but firm—as though if he didn’t hold Hwanwoong in that grip, he would lose him. As though Hwanwoong were something—a gem—one he had searched too hard and long for to let go, one who he needed to still say things to, one he needed to pour his heart out to.

One he needed to devote himself to,to have the love in his heart bounce off in hopes to reach Hwanwoong’s, so that they could combine their love and colour the whole damn world with their passion—so that the people passing by could stop and stare, and awe in utter disbelief and shock. 

“I’m sorry,” Hwanwoong’s voice broke, as a few more tears spurted out of his eyes, staring up at Youngjo, the older constantly blurring in front of the younger. “I-I’m so sorry, I-” 

Youngjo ushered the other back to his chest, resting his chin on top of the other’s hair, rubbing circles his back, letting him cry, allowing him to dampen his coat, holding him close. “Shh, hush, Woong,” He inhaled the other’s blonde, luscious hair, as it smelled of vanilla, nice, cool and fresh, smiling unintentionally. “Hush, Angel, it’ll be alright,” Youngjo slowly rocked them back and forth, humming into Hwanwoong’s hair, the faint buzz rumbling deep in his chest, soothing the younger, who had his ear pressed to Youngjo’s chest, listening silently, sniffling here and there, his eyes closed. 

After a while of nothing but the cold breeze whirling around them, Youngjo slightly created a small distance in between them, bending down a bit, yet still keeping the younger in his arms. “Wanna tell me what happened?” He asked, intertwining hands with Hwanwoong, who shrugged his shoulders, biting his lower lip nervously. Youngjo stood back up, wrapping an arm around Hwanwoong, starting to walk with the younger, who looked up in alarm.

“W-where are we going?” He asked, as Youngjo beeped his car, twirling his keys around one finger, smiling down at the younger.

“You’ll see,” He opened the car door for Hwanwoong, who only stared at the vacant seat for a second before sitting down timidly, looking around the car, as Youngjo closed the door, walking over to his side, sitting down casually, fastening the seat belt. “Buckle up Woongie, we’re going for a drive,” Youngjo started the engine, patiently looking over at Hwanwoong, who took a bit longer with the seatbelt, as Youngjo reached over, assisting him with it, causing the younger to blush in embarrassment. 

The drive passed by in a comfortable silence, as Hwanwoong took his time to look for constellations in the sky, aweing at the clear, cool sky, blanketed by twinkling, chirping stars, every star holding a meaning behind it. 

“Which one are you looking for?” Youngjo’s voice melted through the silence, as Hongjoong looked over at the man driving, his hair down, his soft features more evident, especially with his hair curled, shadowing the edges of his face. 

Hwanwoong smiled, turning back to the dark, yet hopeful sky. “Virgo,” He hummed, eyes wandering through the depths of the clouds shadowing some of the stars, others revealing the stars, politely blending into the sky. 

Youngjo raised an eyebrow, making a turn, glancing over at Hwanwoong, as he kept one hand firm on the wheel. “That’s your sign?” His eyes drifted back and forth from Hwanwoong and the deserted road, the street lights spewing LED lights to make the pathway more lucid. 

Hwanwoong nodded. “You?” 

“I’m also a Virgo,” Youngjo’s voice resonates in the empty car, as Hongjoong looked back once more. “Nine stars,” He continued on, as the other’s eyes stayed on his, his rosy lips slightly parted. 

Hwanwoong only nodded, slightly taken aback by the way Youngjo spoke, with such grace and beauty. 

They stopped in front of a familiar building, as Youngjo turned to him. “What brought you to my house?” His eyes spoke, richer and deeper than his voice—for they conveyed a message that could not adapt itself into the narrow matrix of language. 

For Hwanwoong could not accumulate the emotion displayed so evidently—raw, projected towards Hwanwoong, his voice whispery, a sort of longing etched into his syllables, engraved into his vowels, dancing along the top of his tongue, swirling, the words finding their way to Hwanwoong, ever so dearly. 

For he could not find a way to respond in the same way, project the same emotion, give the same sincerity shown. “I….” He stopped, thinking back to a few weeks ago, when he had visited Youngjo’s house, stumbling across the sight of him on top of Gunhak, the last thing he had ever imagined happening. 

The last thing he had thought of walking in on.

“Me and Gunhak aren’t a thing,” Youngjo interrupted Hwanwoong’s battling mind, as though he were answering the younger’s question, put a hold to everything roaring in his head—pressed a pause button. “I thought that….you should know that,” He finished, rubbing his hands sheepishly, meeting the younger’s eyes slowly. 

There was suffocating silence sitting in the car, wrapping its harsh, thick hands around every vacant space in the car, call pushing Hwanwoong’s heart, tightly squeezing it, making it painful to sit in the car, to relax, to look at the other, to even _breathe_ -

“Look, I’m sorry if you thought that….me and Gunhak were something at all,” Youngjo broke the war that had began to reoccur once more inside Hwanwoong’s head, even if his mind told him partially that this was all nothing more than a lie, a fib, that this was really a fling, that Youngjo, in reality, had no real reason to even _look_ in the other’s direction. “But we grew up together, and we’re extremely close.”

“I can see that,” Hwanwoong snarked, exhausted from his belligerent mind, not fully processing his words-

“Oh,” Youngjo moved back, embellishing the distance between them, as Hwanwoong sighed, shaking his head violently. “I see-”

“No, Youngjo, _no_ ,” Hwanwoong moved forward slightly, putting his hands over Youngjo’s, as they hovered in the air slightly for a few seconds before settling over his warm, pillowy hands. “I….no, that’s not what I meant,” He urged, his voice begging Youngjo to understand. “I-it’s not even my business, Youngjo, so I don’t even have a say in this,” His voice was covered up, as though he were restrained, yet using all of his ability to speak. “Whatever relationship there is between you and Gunhak, it’s not _any_ of my business, in fact-” He stopped, looking at Youngjo’s incredulous face, his eyes crestfallen, the aura around him gloomy, some of his dejection distorted, swirling around in his orbs with obvious confusion, the intricacy of the situation getting to him, messing with his head, seemingly making all of this harder, because….because—because he _needed_ to say this—needed to get this off of his chest, to boldly state it at the younger, to rip off the fact, like a band-aid, and give his wound some air to breathe, to just….get it across.

“And what if I _want_ my business to be yours?” Youngjo bit his tongue, razors tearing him apart on the inside, regret pooling in his gut. 

It was silent for a while, as Hwanwoong sat there, unsure of what to say—no. He was unsure of _how_ to say it. 

Unsure of how to say that he was so fucking _happy_ to hear that—he didn’t know _why_ , or what _about_ hearing Youngjo specifically say it made him overjoyed, but that was it. 

He inhaled, and exhaled, and inhaled, and exhaled, over, and over, and over—what a small thing to feel so joyous over! 

Fortuitously, for the long journey Youngjo had proved itself to be much more successful than what had been occurring between the two for a small period of time. 

“Really?” Hwanwoong breathed out, blinking his eyes to reassure himself that this was _definitely_ not a dream (damn his face muscles, he was trying _so_ hard not to smile).

Youngjo only nodded in response, his eyes still holding the weight of Hwanwoong’s previously spoken words, pressing on both sides of his mind, stilling the silence even more. 

“I mean….it’s nice that you trust me as….a-a friend,” Hwanwoong chuckled, the heavy wave of realization crashing down on him, harder than ever, drowning him. 

Of _course_ Youngjo meant it in a way that they were friends. Youngjo was perfectly fine with involving his friends into his life.

And Hwanwoong….Hwanwoong didn’t know. He never had friends, all his life, even growing up. Maybe he never tried. He didn’t understand the purpose of friends, of having someone who pretended like they were interested in his life and really just needed someone to do their homework, or someone to buy some lunch with. He didn’t need a scornful kid acting harsh towards his lack of money, using him as their source of entertainment. (That was the _last_ thing he needed, the last thing he wanted.)

“Yeah, we’re….friends?” Youngjo’s brows furrowed together, saying the word as though it were a possible curse, a word that was powerful enough to banish one from a kingdom.

But the word was also spoke with ache, a sort of distant longing, a cry of pain, a sort of disbelief etched into deslation, a sort of agony and grief, as though his heart were made of paper, and it was carelessly thrown in a paper shredder, without a last glance. “Because that’s what _you_ think,” He nodded, inhaling through his nose, looking the other way, his body shifting with him, the sound of the leather shifting against his clothes interrupting his sigh. 

Hwanwoong narrowed his eyes in confusion, tilting his head. “What do you….mean?” He asked, as though he were interpreting Youngjo’s cryptic words. “I….think that we’re friends, and you….don’t?” He spoke carefully, as though a wrong word would make the ticking bomb in there explode, one filed with an absolutely bewildering amount of tense energy. 

A tense time bomb, _not_ helping the already tense atmosphere in the air—the smothering, drowning atmosphere, like a tightrope, about to snap if it were twisted any further. 

Youngjo scoffed at Hwanwoong’s words, trying to swallow down the heavy lump in his throat, what seemingly seemed to be a large rock, one hard and stiff, scratching at the inside of his neck, making it raw and painful, causing it to prick his eyes, provoking his eyes tears up, as his breath hitched in his throat, his nose twitch for the slightest second, as he pressed his lips tightly together, his glistening eyes reflecting the bright moon.

The moon was dancing amongst the stars, twisting and turning about, waltzing to the slow hum of the shore, where the horizon kissed the night sky, and lulled it to sleep. 

“Yeah, I don’t consider you a friend, Yeo Hwanwoong, because you’re fucking _dense_ ,” He spat at the window, scrubbing his eyes, his voice gruff and rough, trying to keep that lump restrained, to keep it from pricking at his eyes-

“W-why? I mean, I-I’m sorry if I hurt you in any way-” Hwanwoong spoke, his voice taut, like a drawing on a fridge, held up, with a magnet from every corner-

Youngjo spun around, practically ripping off his seatbelt, grabbing Hwanwoong’s face, pulling the younger closer, smashing his lips onto the other’s as his tears fell, crashing onto their entangled lips, as Hwanwoong stayed still for a few seconds, his eyes wide, feeling Youngjo’s tears against his face.

And slowly, he tilted his head, closing his eyes, his lips molding into Youngjo’s, who kissed him passionately, one hand near his hip, working on the other’s seat belt, the other on the back of his neck, bringing him closer, as his lips blanketed Hwanwoong’s, warming and protecting the other in his grip.

Hwanwoong moaned into their kiss, his hands weaving through Youngjo’s hair, exploring every inch of him, his hands resting, slightly pulling on certain spots of his hair, breathing into Youngjo’s mouth, who met Hwanwoong’s tongue with his own, releasing a mellow moan of his own, as their tongues danced and swirled with one another’s, waltzing into unknown caverns, venturing into deep, dark, places that once seemed too scary to visit, but now appeared daring and exciting.

Adrenaline coursed through their veins, thrumming in every body part of theirs, the taste rather delightful and sweet, filled with sugar, tasting like coffee—sweet, yet something that kept you up on your toes, smelling like moist green leaves in a forest, one that signified traveling in the depths of an obscure grove, one that extended out to halfway across the world.

The world was forgotten—it and its people, and its surroundings were forgotten, for in that moment, all that mattered were them, and only the two of them. 

For they were not in _this_ world, they had created one of their own—one far more beautiful, blasting and lighting up with sparks of joy, tints and trails of euphoria bursting in the air, a sense of ecstasy etched into the fervent moment, sealed by nothing more than the beating their hearts and the impacts of their devotion.

Youngjo’s tears trailed down his cheeks, mixing in with Hwanwoong’s, as their bodies conformed within another, hands grasping, looking for a place to stop at, to hold, and grip tightly, hearts begging for this to be nothing more than reality-

And they finally broke away, the kiss subdued, their rapid lips slowed down to dilatory pecks, until their foreheads rested against each other, their lips basking in their mingled breath, eyes slowly opening, facing the truth of the reality that had occurred—that _they_ created.

Slight trails of stardust lingered in the air, created by the moon, and jazzed by the stars, tarrying in the air, replacing the once stiff, cold atmosphere, brightening the car up with its warmth. 

Their eyes met, dancing within the depths of each other, of every single aspect of themselves, the _idea_ of them—together—lit up a whole damn universe itself for the world to stop and stare at. 

“Wait!” Hwanwoong gasped, moving back immediately, hands grabbing his bag in alarm, rushing to grab his belongings-

“Woong, wait, what happened?” An alarmed (and somewhat frightened) Youngjo frantically spoke, holding the younger still before he’d hit his head on the car roof, trying to look at the younger-

“My job! Ugh, I’m so fucking _stupid,_ Youngjo!” Hwanwoong whined, sitting still for a second, then resuming his activities, reaching for the car door handle, frowning at how the door wouldn’t budge. It stayed shut, refusing stubbornly. 

“Alright, Angel, how about you look at me for a second?” Youngjo calmly turned the other towards him, gently looking down at him, raising his eyebrows in question. 

Hwanwoong humphed, pouting. “Please hurry,” He griped, crossing his arms, as Youngjo only chuckled.

“How about, you stay in here, and I’ll drive you to….wherever you need to go, okay?” He rubbed his hands up and down Hwanwoong’s shoulders and arms, who nodded, sitting back, fixing his seat belt, turning to look at Youngjo

“Really?” 

Youngjo nodded, chuckling, as he fixed his own seat belt, starting the engine. “Yes, Woongie.” 

Hwanwoong only smiled shyly to himself, his hands fiddling in his lap as he looked out the window occasionally, then back at Youngjo every now and then. Eventually, their hands met in the dark, fingers intertwining with one another, as Seonghwa squeezed his hand, his thumb rubbing circles on Hwanwoong’s hand.

When Youngjo decided to stay with Hwanwoong for his shift, Hwanwoong didn’t complain.

* * *

Hwanwoong sighed, wiping the counter, as he emptied the shopping cart into a bag, smiling at the food in it, putting the cart back into its designated place, tossing the rag back into the cart, dusting his hands, putting his hands on his hips. “All done,” He turned to Youngjo, his hands tapping his hips. “Sorry you had to wait,” He smiled sheepishly, laughing nervously.

“No need to apologize, sugarcube, it was worth the wait,” Youngjo winked, not missing the tint of red blanketing Hwanwoong’s cheeks caused by the nickname, standing up from the chair, heading towards the younger one, who was behind the counter, headed behind the store, to the locker room. 

“I’ll be back in five, lemme just change!” Hwanwoong yelled from the small room in the back, as Youngjo only nodded in response, dreamily sighing. He took the time to look around the deli once more, taking in its aisles and stacked racks, filled with all sorts of foods and chips, candies of all varieties and brands. This small store barely paid enough for cushion money, but as long as it meant extra money to help himself, then it meant yes. 

(He still hadn’t paid back the morgue for his mom’s bills.)

“Alrighty then,” Hwanwoong came out of the room, fixing his small coat around his shoulders, swinging his bag around his shoulders, smiling up at the older, who held his hand out. 

Hwanwoong bit back a smile, puffing up his cheeks, sliding his small, delicate hand into Youngjo’s gentle, warm, yet calloused hand, feeling goosebumps go up and down his arms. 

And slowly, their fingers intertwined, tangling within each other, the love running through their hands, reaching their hearts. 

“Where do you want to go?” Youngjo looked down, as Hwanwoong yawned, using his free hand to scrub his eyes, shrugging.

“‘M sleepy,” His words drawled out, his eyelids growing heavy, as Youngjo brought the younger closer, pecking him on the nose, as they exited the deli. “Wait,” He told Youngjo, taking out the keys from his pocket, beeping a small button, as the gate door began to cover the store automatically, a loud _screech_ disrupting the serenity of the night. 

Obediently, Youngjo stayed by his side, watching the younger reach up on his tiptoes, pulling the gate down faster, and smiling after hearing the satisfying _click_ of the lock securing the deli for the night. 

“So,” Youngjo took Hwanwoong’s hand once more, as they left the store, heading to his car. “Do you open the store in the mornings?” He took out his own keys, beeping his car, as it chirped from its designated spot.

“No, silly,” Hwanwoong’s chuckled, signs of fatigue evident in his voice, seeping through the cracks of his syllables. “I just-” He stopped, as Youngjo opened the door open for him. “You really need to stop doing that,” He scowled at Youngjo, who motioned for him to sit inside the car. 

“After you, milady.”

“I’m not your _lady_ ,” Hwanwoong rolled his eyes, sitting in the car, not missing how Youngjo put his hand on the roof of the car to prevent the younger from hitting his head. 

“To me, you are,” Youngjo bent down, adjusting Hwanwoong’s seatbelt across his chest, taking the opportunity to quickly peck the younger’s lips, then smiling, quickly heading out and closing the door. 

“Hey! You-” Hwanwoong stopped, sighing, sitting back, waiting for Youngjo to enter the car from his side. 

Youngjo smiled to himself, opening his door-

“You idiot!” Hwanwoong flicked his head, as Youngjo moved back, hitting his head on the roof of the car, wincing in pain, holding the back of his head, eyes scrunched right. 

“Ow….” Youngjo muttered, biting his lower lip, peering through one eye to see Hwanwoong staring at him, his hand in midair.

“Oh _fuck_ , I’m so so sorry! Are you okay?” Hwanwoong reached out, slightly restrained by the seat belt, his brows furrowed together, a hand over his mouth, as Youngjo slowly entered the car, closing the door behind him, slowly nodding, then wincing. 

“Yeah...it just….” He winced again. “Hurts,” He touched the spot where he had hurt his head again, wincing once more, as Hwanwoong reached out a bit more.

“I’m sorry,” Hwanwoong pouted, sighing. “I...how can help you feel better?” 

Youngjo tried hard not to smile, his hand still on the place he had gotten hurt, turning to Hwanwoong. “A kiss,” He puckered his lips, as Hwanwoong rolled his eyes, scoffing.

“You big baby,” He undid his seatbelt, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck pressing his lips onto the others, laughing into the kiss, their lips molding into a shape of love, as Youngjo undid his seatbelt, a hand steady on Hwanwoong’s hip, the other behind his neck, bringing him closer, as their eyes closed slowly, hearts beating in the same rhythm.

The kiss wasn’t dragged out, teasing or tantalizing, nor was it fast paced, like an intense make out session. 

It was just them, with their lips on each other, kissing each other over every now and then, but finding the meaning behind every kiss, taking their time, together. It was savoring every small greeting of their lips, a chaste kiss, one might say. It was filled with relief, of breathing into each other slowly, filling up the other slowly, putting together the finalizing pieces of the puzzle and finishing the masterpiece. 

Hope. It was filled with the hope of seeing a better tomorrow, whether that meant the day after, the next week, or the future in general, smiling at the thought of staying with the other for as long as every star could hold, until the sun and the moon were lovers, until every ray in the sun died out. Until their love could no longer endure.

So they let themselves be, and let go of the pain in the past. They kissed, and loved, and cried, and hurt, and got up, and kissed once more, and over, and over, and over, and over again. 

They kissed until they were sure that this was more than what appeared to the eye. 

And slowly after pulling away, their gazes locked, and without words needed, they exchanged whatever needed to be, quieting down to mere, hushed pants, foreheads resting against one another.

And when Hwanwoong laughed, galaxies lit up, pouring its light out into the universe.

Youngjo was his universe.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve come this far, thank you! Tell me what you think, and what else I should write, or if you’d like to see something else from me!  
> You can also come talk to me on Twitter—under bagchuu~  
> Have a lovely day!<3


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